The Night of the Deadly Ransom
by California gal
Summary: Dr. Loveless again, this time with a foolproof--he thinks--plan to get rid of Jim West once and for all!


THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY RANSOM

"Greater love hath no man than this,

that a man lay down his life for his friends."

(_John_ 15:13)

He swam upwards, toward the light, conscious of the soft darkness around him. _Wait a minute, Artemus, old boy. You're swimming without your arms! They don't want to move… and you're breathing... are you a fish now? But you must get to that light…_

He opened his eyes, blinked a few times against the brightness. He became aware of the tethers on his wrists when he attempted to lift a hand in order to rub his eyes. Looking down to see the iron manacles, he heard the voice, oh, so hellishly familiar.

"Why, Mr. Gordon, so glad to see you've decided to rejoin us."

Artemus Gordon forced his vision to concentrate on the small, oddly striped form standing a half dozen feet away. Sunlight streamed through windows that were set high in the surrounding walls, motes of dust glittering in the beams. Then his vision focused on the vertical bars that separated him from Dr. Miguelito Loveless. Bars that formed three sides of a cage, about six feet square, with the horizontal frame bars secured into a stone wall behind him, as were the ends of the chains that fastened to the manacles on his wrists. He was seated on a narrow wooden board connected as well to the wall by strong stanchions.

"What's going on, doctor?" Artie asked in a low, somewhat hoarse voice. His throat was very dry.

"Going on? That must be apparent. You are my prisoner."

Gordon's eyes scanned the surroundings outside the cage. He saw a high-ceilinged room, maybe a hundred feet long and half as many wide. Except for the stone wall behind him, Artemus might have believed it was a warehouse, or a portion of one; the stone wall might have been added for this purpose, to secure the cage and chains. Very little furniture adorned the room: a long table covered with glassware, bottles of liquid, a microscope and burner indicating it was a laboratory of some sort was situated near the far wall, closest to a large door.

_Most importantly, Jim's not here. Either Loveless has not captured Jim, or he's being held elsewhere._ He forced himself not to consider one other option to explain Jim West's absence.

"I think I've figured that out." Artie looked up at the ceiling above him, saw how the iron bars were embedded there, as well as the hard wood floor. He also saw the wires. "I take it the cage is electrified."

Loveless beamed, blue eyes glittering. "You are an extremely bright man. Yes, indeed, the bars are highly charged. Contact could be fatal. Thoughtfully, as is my wont, I arranged to have you fettered to the wall when you first awakened. I did not want you to stumble into the bars. That would ruin everything."

"Thanks for the warning and the solicitude," Artemus replied sarcastically. "But the real question is…"

"Why are you here?" Loveless's smile widened. "I think that too is obvious."

"As bait for Jim," the imprisoned agent responded angrily. "It won't work."

"That remains to be seen. I tend to disagree with you. The brotherly affection that exists between you and Mr. West will require him to at least attempt to locate you and essay a rescue. But more importantly, I have another reason for taking you prisoner first. I hope you will accept this as a compliment, Mr. Gordon. I have rather belatedly come to realize that virtually every time I have had–if you will–James West in my clutches, you have been the fly in the ointment."

"I see. In other words, I interfered with your plans to murder or disable Jim."

"Exactly right. So this time, you see, with you already my prisoner, you will not have that opportunity. With you as my hostage, West will have to surrender."

"He won't do that," Artemus spat, and the grin on the dwarf's face showed that he had revealed his own fear that James West would indeed yield in order to save his partner's life.

"I will give Mr. West my word that once he is… well, no longer among the living… I will set you free. He knows that I am as much a man of honor as he is."

Artemus Gordon got to his feet and took two steps toward the bars and the man on the other side, the limits that the chains allowed. "You cannot let me go free."

Loveless's smile turned beatific. "I did not say _when_ you would be set free, Mr. Gordon. Or _where_. I think that Mr. West will accept the fact that you will be alive. Best of all, you will not be in a position to don one of your ridiculous masquerades!"

Now Artemus smiled slightly. "Ridiculous? They fooled you, didn't they?"

The doctor scowled. "Of course not! I knew it was you instantly in every case!"

"That's why you allowed me to go out into the street to face Jim as Lightin' McCoy, and why you stood by when I portrayed the French doctor."

The scowl turned into a glower, Loveless's complexion darkening. "I don't want to discuss it further. I recognized you every time. And now…" he pulled a gold watch from a vest pocket. "Now I have other mechanisms to put in motion. Vivian will bring you some refreshments in short order."

"Vivian!" A new surge of anger coursed through Gordon's veins. He had fallen into the trap so completely, so idiotically, with no hint of suspicion on his part.

"Yes, lovely Vivian. She carried out her assignment impressively well, didn't she?" With a wave, the little man toddled toward the larger door on the opposite wall. It closed firmly behind him.

Artemus Gordon sank back onto the cot and quickly began to take stock of his situation. His coat and vest had been taken away, thus removing access to his picklock and the explosive wires that were secreted in those articles of attire. _Maybe I should do like Jim and begin to hide some items in my boots._

He heaved a sigh. _Jim. He's going to come, Artemus. You know damn well he will. And everything Loveless said is true. If Loveless gives his word to not harm me, Jim will surrender himself. I've got to get out of here before it comes to that point!_

WWWWWWW

The frown on James West's face grew deeper as he stood in the hotel room, arms akimbo, and stared around. _Where is it, Artie? You had to have left me something. Where is it? Where are you?_

A deep sigh emanated from his chest, and he shook his head slightly. The knot of dread in his stomach was growing tighter and tighter. Twenty-four hours ago he had arrived in Denver to meet his partner, only to learn that Artemus Gordon had not returned to his hotel room after having been seen departing the lobby in the company of an attractive woman some forty-eight hours earlier.

The desk clerk's complexion had grown rosy as he explained why he had not been concerned when the guest had not returned. "After all, Mr. Gordon is a man of the world, and…" He had shrugged his shoulders.

Jim had had to bite back his anger, aware that keeping track of the affairs of the guests was not necessarily the clerk's duty. The two agents had used this hotel previously, so the man knew them by name. He had seen them wine and dine lovely ladies in the hotel dining room on other occasions. If in this instance Mr. Gordon had chosen to go to the lady's residence…

At least the clerk had gotten a good look at the woman. Petite, small-waisted, with curly hair the color of a ripe carrot. Well-dressed, such that he was sure she was a member of finer society. He _thought_ that Mr. Gordon had met her in the dining room, but he could not swear to that. He had not seen the woman prior to noticing her on Mr. Gordon's arm as they headed for the front door of the lobby. Because the hour had been early afternoon, he had rather assumed that Gordon had been taking his midday meal.

Problem was, none of the restaurant staff could remember seeing either one in the dining room at that time on Monday, the day he was seen leaving the hotel. They, too, knew Artemus Gordon, and every waiter who had been on duty at the time stated he had seen Mr. Gordon have breakfast that day, as well as dinner Sunday evening. One stated he had been puzzled and surprised when Mr. Gordon did not appear for supper Monday night, because he had been informed during breakfast that the special that evening was going to be Beef Stroganoff, a forte of the chef and a dish all were aware Mr. Gordon favored.

However, not one of them remembered waiting on Gordon, or a redheaded woman, at lunch that day.

Jim could not believe that if Artemus had merely gone off on a romantic assignation he would not have left some kind of message, either at the desk or here in his room. Worse, none of Artie's clothes, beyond what he would have been wearing, were missing. Surely, if he expected to be gone a couple of days, he would have taken his shaving gear, a clean shirt…

As much as he would like to believe that his partner had made a romantic conquest and was now snuggled in a cozy nest with some beauty, Jim West sensed otherwise. He knew Artemus Gordon much too well. This was not like him. Especially because Artie was virtually betrothed to the beautiful actress, Lily Fortune, he would not do such a thing. His sense of honor would not allow it.

So where was he? Who was the woman with the carrot-shaded hair? Jim had talked to the police and contacted hospitals and, with dread, the morgue. No one fitting Gordon's description was in any of those institutions, nor was a woman with the rather easily recognizable hair. Who was she? Why had Artie gone off with her?

One question after another, and Jim West had no answers. He had asked the city police to contact their local sources to find out if either the man or the woman had been seen in the city; thus far, the answers from those sources had been negative. Almost as though they had vanished into a puff of smoke.

The light tap on the door swung Jim around and he opened it swiftly, hopefully. The hotel manager, Mr. Grace, was there, a scruffy young boy at his side. "Mr. West, this is Harold Durbin. He often shines shoes for hotel patrons, and maintains a stand outside, on the sidewalk. Harold, tell Mr. West what you saw."

The boy's eyes grew big. "Are you really James West?"

"I am. Did you see Mr. Gordon?"

Harold swallowed hard. "Yes, sir, Mr. West. That day… Monday, I reckon it was, I shined two pairs of boots for Mr. Wallace. He let me take them out to my stand so I could wait on other customers while I was doin' the boots. Anyhow, I seen Mr. Gordon come out of the hotel. I shined his boots the day before, and he tipped me real good. So I sez hello to him when he strolls by with the dish… the lady. Mr. Gordon, he smiles and says hello back, and they go on down the street to Mrs. Tilly's Tea Room."

"Did you see them come out?"

"No. That was funny, on account of I was kinda watchin' for them, on account of I like Mr. Gordon and I wanted to say howdy to him again. But I worked out there for nigh onto two hours, and they didn't come out. Then I had to take Mr. Wallace's boots back to him, and then I went home, 'cause my Ma, she needed me to look after the young'uns while she delivered laundry. Is Mr. Gordon hurt?"

"That I don't know, Harold," Jim said quietly, digging into his jacket pocket and producing a gold piece, which he pressed into the boy's hand. "Thank you."

"Thank _you_, Mr. West!" The youngster glanced up at the manager, and upon receiving a nod, dashed toward the stairs.

"I do hope that is of some assistance, Mr. West."

"It may be. Do you know anything about this tea room?"

"I know it's been quite popular since it opened a few weeks ago. Mrs. Tilly's husband prepares excellent pastries to be served with the tea, along with tasty soup for the midday meal. I myself have patronized the place a time or two. I'm sure that Mrs. Tilly will be anxious to help you. I am so concerned about Mr. Gordon."

"That makes two of us," Jim murmured, stepping out into the hallway and pulling the door closed. "Are you sure you don't recognize the description of the woman he was seen with?" he asked as they started down the carpeted hallway toward the stairs.

"I really cannot, and I'm sorry. I do not believe she was a guest here. Not recently in any case. Her appearance sounds rather striking, and unforgettable."

"My thoughts exactly." In the lobby Jim parted company with the manager and exited through the front door, pausing for a moment to get his bearings, and spied the ornate sign on a building half a block down: "Mrs. Tilly's Tea Room." Opened just a few weeks ago, according to the hotel manager, and definitely since the last time the agents had stayed in this hotel several months back.

Artemus Gordon and James West had been in Cheyenne testifying at a trial, and upon completion of that, planned to come to Denver for a few days of relaxation before heading to their next assignment in Nevada. However, the defense attorney for one of the men had asked Jim West to remain over a couple of days to prepare a deposition regarding his client, a young man who appeared to have gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd. The youth had been of some help to Jim, in particular, during and after the gang's capture, so the lawyer wanted details of that assistance to present to the sentencing judge. Jim had been more than willing. He too had seen something in the lad, and regretted that the youth was being lumped in with the more hardened criminals.

Rather than ask Artemus to hang around, Jim had suggested that his partner take the train on down to Denver to set up some much needed maintenance at the Denver rail yards, allowing the crew to take some time off as well. He himself would ride the relatively short distance on horseback from Cheyenne, meet Artie, whereupon they could take in a couple of shows, look up some ladies, and take a break from the stress of their usual life.

_Some break!_

Jim almost physically shook his head as he approached the front door of the shop. Trouble seemed to find them, regardless of where they traveled, no matter what their purpose. Glancing in the front window, Jim saw a shelf on the windowsill full of figurines and vases of flowers. Beyond he could see white-covered tables.

Upon entering, his senses were immediate treated to the aroma of freshly-baked cakes and cookies. The décor was decidedly feminine, but not so much that a man would feel overly uncomfortable. Several men, in the company of women, now occupied the tables. Jim pulled off his hat and approached the white-haired woman at the counter near the cash register.

"Good afternoon, sir," she beamed at him. "Would you like a table?"

"Thank you, no. I'm wondering if you could help me. I'm looking for someone."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Well, yes, of course, if I can. Who is it?"

"A man named Artemus Gordon. The name may not mean anything to you, but I believe he came in here on Monday, early afternoon, with a young lady. Mr. Gordon is in his late thirties, with brown hair and brown eyes. A well dressed man. The lady he was with had hair that has been described as carrot-orange in color."

"Oh, yes, of course! The lovebirds!"

"Lovebirds!" Jim was startled. _Lovebirds!_ _What in the world?_

"They were so obviously in love," she sighed. "Never took their eyes from each other, holding hands across the table. I was so sorry to see something disturb them so seriously. The young lady was trembling in fear."

"What do you mean?"

"I had just served them a pot of tea and some angel cookies… that's what we call the ones with the pink frosting… when suddenly the lady looked out the window and cried, 'Artemus, there he is!' I'm sure that's the name she called him. Artemus. I remember the name because it's unusual."

"Then what? Did you see who was out there?"

"Not at that moment. Your friend got to his feet, put some money on the table–entirely too much, you know–and asked me if there was a back door they could use. Of course I allowed them to go through the kitchen."

Jim raked his fingers through his hair. "Did you see them again? Either of them?"

"No. I was busy with other customers, so I did not follow them. I did take a peek out the front window though."

"See anyone?"

"Not a soul. Oh, except for that funny little peddler man."

Ice washed over Jim West's soul. "Little peddler man?"

"Yes. He's been around here often. He sells little figurines. Like those in my window. Charming, aren't they? He can be so persistent. I really have bought too many of them."

"Man so high?" Jim held his hand about four feet off the floor. "Blue eyes?"

"Why yes! Do you know him?"

"I'm afraid I do. May I talk to your cook?"

"Certainly. Go on back. I need to help another customer." She pointed toward a curtained doorway.

Jim strode toward that doorway and pushed through, finding himself in a small kitchen where a middle-aged man and a young woman were busy. Jim introduced himself and related his purpose. The pair said they were Mr. Tilly and daughter Edna. Both vividly remembered the incident on Monday afternoon because they had been startled by the sudden entrance of the pair.

"The poor lady was sobbing awfully," Edna sighed. "Mama told us afterwards that she seemed to be terrified about something."

The man and woman had barely acknowledged their presence and dashed out the back door. Mr. Tilly went to the door and saw them hurrying, hand-in-hand, in the direction of the hotel. He assumed that they intended to gain entry to the hotel through the rear door that led to the stables. Tilly led Jim outside and pointed out the route the two had taken. He was certain they had not turned off in any of the alleys that would lead them to the street, nor headed further to the rear, which would have taken them beyond the stable to some storage buildings and a couple of shacks.

Jim thanked them and followed the indicated path. He paused at the shacks, rapping on the doors, but no one responded. Neither looked occupied. Tilly had said that sometimes hotel employees, such as stable workers, lived in them, but he was unsure about their status right now.

_Loveless! Loveless is here in Denver!_

Those words reverberated in Jim's brain as he entered through the rear door of the hotel. The little doctor had a way of vanishing and reappearing, especially when they thought he might well have died. Jim had no doubt that the "little peddler man" Mrs. Tilly described was Miguelito Loveless. Chances were very good that Loveless had a hand in the disappearance of Artemus Gordon. The why was fairly easy: to lure Artemus's partner into a trap.

_Mrs. Tilly must have been wrong when she described Artie and the woman as lovebirds. Perhaps Artie was comforting his companion because of whatever distress she was in. If she is involved with Loveless in any manner, her distress could be acute. Had Loveless grabbed both of them? But I've been in Denver for over twenty-four hours. Why haven't I been contacted, or…_

He paused in the hotel kitchen to speak to the staff there. All assured him that no hotel guest, or anyone else, had come through their working space on Monday, nor on any other day. The chef knew Mr. Gordon, who often took the time to compliment him on his preparations, discussing the particular dish and variations.

_Why would Loveless allow Mrs. Tilly to give me such an overt warning… if she's in on the game? _

Wearily, Jim West climbed the stairs and once more entered the room Artemus Gordon had occupied. He had already gone through the closet and bureau drawers. But maybe he missed something. Surely Artie was aware that Loveless was in the vicinity. Especially if this redheaded woman described the little man, he would have left a message for his partner before venturing out.

_Unless, of course, this woman led him into a trap without warning. If she was being pursued by Loveless, and had informed Artemus, he would have left a note for me. But if she was leading Artie down another path…_

Jim sat down on the bed and rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the stubble on his jaw. He had shaved very hastily and not very thoroughly this morning. Had this woman put on an act for Artemus Gordon? What kind of act? If she had told him straight-off that Miguelito Loveless was in the vicinity, Artie would have been on his guard.

Was Mrs. Tilly being truthful about what happened in her restaurant? If only it was possible to learn who else had been present–other than the husband and daughter–at the time. Might be worthwhile going back and asking.

_I'm clutching at straws now. I don't know which way to turn. Where the hell are you, Artie?_

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon sat quietly on the bench and watched as the woman opened a small enclosure on the wall to the left of his cage. She had just brought him a meal, a bowl of fairly tasty stew in a wooden bowl, with a wooden spoon, two slices of buttered bread, and a cup of coffee, the same meal that had been served to him approximately every six hours since his capture. The guard with the rifle who stood by when Vivian opened the cage door changed from one man to another with each visit, but one always remained on sentry while the prisoner ate. Vivian would leave, returning later for the utensils. Loveless had had the chains removed, but warned that if Mr. Gordon misbehaved, they would be returned promptly. The electrified bars were an excellent deterrent.

The woman who served him now was a far cry from the charming woman who had approached him in the hallway outside his room as he was preparing to leave the hotel in search of a midday meal. He planned to have supper at the hotel later, having been informed that his favorite dish was to be served this evening, but he was in the mood for something different for lunch. A restaurant he knew of often served trout fresh from the nearby mountain streams.

"Please forgive my boldness," she had said with a rather shy and very sweet smile, "but when I heard your name mentioned by one of the staff, I knew I just had to meet you, Mr. Gordon. My name is Vivian Ambrose. You once helped a very dear friend of mine, Laurie Morgan. Do you recall?"

Certainly Artemus remembered the delightful, if somewhat naïve, young woman whom they had encountered living at the hideout of one John Avery, a corrupt politician they had been assigned to capture and bring back to Washington. Vivian stated that she had met and worked with Miss Morgan in San Francisco, and assured Artemus that Laurie was doing quite well. In fact, she was to be married in a few months to a fine man who owned a theater there.

Artie knew now that he had been caught completely off guard, with absolutely no suspicion that the pretty young woman with big brown eyes and startlingly red hair was anything other that what she said she was. He invited her to join him in the quest for the trout, but she sadly told him that she would not have time. Her train taking her back to the west coast would be leaving within the hour. However, if he did not mind, they could get a bowl of soup at the little tearoom just down the street. She did _so_ want to talk to him about his theater career, claiming that she met several people in the acting profession who either knew him or his reputation from back in the days when he trod the boards.

_Vanity, thy name is Artemus._ Easy to look back now and see how easily she had snared him by appealing to the pride he owned regarding his theatrical career. He did not even become suspicious when they reached the tearoom and, upon finding it not yet open for business, Vivian insisted on rapping on the door until the owner, a handsome white-haired woman opened it. Nor were any qualms aroused when Vivian prevailed upon Mrs. Tilly to admit them early, "just for some tea until opening time," because they had so much to talk about and her train was due to depart soon. He had even admired the way Vivian hinted, though never said outright, that they were sweethearts soon to be parted, playing on Mrs. Tilly's sympathies.

Nothing seemed amiss until he took the first swallow of the very aromatic tea. He recognized the acrid taste instantly, it having been disguised by the odor of the strong herbal brew, but by then it was too late. The powerful drug began its insidious work, and he was helpless as two large men emerged from the rear to hoist him by shoulders and legs. That was really about all he remembered until awakening in the cage to find Dr. Loveless outside the bars. He had no idea where this building was located.

Artemus leaned down to pick up the bowl of stew from the floor where Vivian had placed it. As tasty as the concoction was, he was growing more than a little tired of it. He wondered if Loveless devised this diet in an attempt to confuse him about the passage of time, although the sunlight through the windows, or lack thereof, was a good indication of day and night. He knew he had been here at least two days.

After each meal, when Vivian returned to pick up the bowls, the prisoner was allowed to use a small closet at the side of the room opposite from the power switch. A second guard came back with Vivian, and the two men kept their weapons trained on him all the while until the cage door closed behind him again, and the electrification of the bars reactivated. Thus far, Artie had not seen one single opportunity to attempt a break.

_I've got to get out of here. Although I am not certain of the time elements, I'm pretty sure Jim has either arrived from Cheyenne by now, or soon will. I can't let Jim give himself up in an attempt to save my skin._

Jim West would be fully aware of Loveless's craftiness, that while the little doctor had a sense of honor, it was also often warped. Yet he would surrender himself to Loveless if he thought it would afford his partner any chance to escape.

The wooden bowl and spoon were pretty useless as weapons. Perhaps if he could hang onto the spoon long enough to sharpen it… but that was not possible. Everything was taken from him as soon as he finished eating, including the heavy porcelain cup that held the coffee. When he occasionally asked for some water, it was brought to him in a tin cup and then immediately removed from his hands. Vivian and the guards were under strict instructions, and they carried those orders out efficiently.

The first time Vivian had served him, Artemus had engaged her in conversation, trying to find out why she had aligned herself with a man like Loveless. That was the first time that Artie became aware that one of the guards, a powerfully built young man, had an interest in the redhead. His eyes had never left her. He also seemed ready to protect her if the need arose, even from the caged man if necessary. Artie had since learned that the man's name was Barton.

Vivian had cast a couple of glances toward the guard, but at that time Artie was unsure if she was returning Barton's interest or was simply nervous that her conversation was being witnessed. She had stated that Dr. Loveless promised to take her away from her existence as a saloon girl, to help her become established in society, have a fine home and clothing.

"Are you aware that Loveless intends to murder an agent of the United States government?" Artie had asked sternly. "Indeed, even participating in a kidnap of another agent is a federal offense!"

That was the first time he had witnessed a flicker of doubt in her big brown eyes. He wondered if the little doctor had not been completely honest when enlisting her cooperation. Or was she simply having second thoughts? What about Barton? Artie had noticed a deep frown on the young man's face then and later.

As Vivian departed with the utensils, Barton lingered a moment, then started to follow her. Artemus spoke his name. At first he thought Barton was going to ignore the call, but then he paused and looked back.

"What do you want?"

"How about a cup of water? The stew seemed a little salty today."

Barton hesitated, glanced toward the door that had closed behind Vivian, then appeared to mentally shrug. Holding his rifle in one hand, he went to the bucket on the stand in the far corner, filled the metal cup, and brought it over to carefully extend through the bars.

Artie accepted it with a nod of gratitude, then drank about half of it. He did not hand it back immediately, knowing that Barton would wait for it. "Vivian is quite a lovely lady. Certainly entranced me long enough to lead me into the trap. Too bad she's mixed up in this, though."

The scowl returned to Barton's face. "She knows what she's doing."

"Does she? Do you? Miguelito Loveless is a dangerous man. His ultimate ambition is to destroy the world and everyone in it… save himself."

"That's crazy."

Artie laughed softly. "You said the magic word. How long have you been with Loveless?"

The guard shrugged. "A few weeks."

The imprisoned agent gazed at him. "You don't strike me as the type of man Loveless usually has on his payroll."

"What's that mean?" Plainly Barton was unsure whether to be insulted or complimented.

"A hardened criminal, one who will not hesitate to follow Loveless's orders to kill, no matter what the situation, nor who the victim is. He's not very loyal, you know."

"Who's not loyal? Loveless? What do you mean?"

"I mean I've seen him murder men and women he hired to help him in some scheme… just to prove a point." Artemus was pleased to see a shadow brush through Barton's eyes with this information. "Loveless lets nothing stand in his way. Not the lives of innocent citizens, nor the lives of his employees. If he thought doing so would further his purpose, he would kill you… or Vivian… in a flash."

"You're crazy! He's going to pay us…!"

Gordon smiled. "Oh, I imagine if his scheme succeeds in the way he has it planned, he will honor his agreement. But you have to understand. He will change his plans in a flash, and do anything, to anybody, in the name of success. I've seen it too many times. His aim right now is to capture and kill my partner, Jim West. Jim is a very clever man, and won't be taken in easily. Loveless knows that, and I'm sure he has backup plans in place. Plans that may call for the sacrifice of his men… and women." To allow time for his words to sink in, Artie drained the cup, and pushed it back through the bars, asking pleasantly, "Am I going to get my usual trip to the closet?"

"As soon as McAfee shows up," Barton growled.

At that moment the outer door opened, but instead of the second guard, Loveless entered. He had come into the cavernous room previously since his first visit, but always went to the table and puttered around there, barely glancing at and never speaking to the prisoner. If he had expected his captive to plead for mercy for himself or his partner, Artie had not given Loveless any satisfaction. He had remained silent.

Now Loveless jerked his head toward Barton, who hurriedly left. The small man approached the cage, hands behind his back, a pleasant smile on his countenance. Pleasant, unless one was well acquainted with the little man. The expression caused a chill to creep up Artemus Gordon's spine.

"Mr. Gordon! I hope you are well and that the accommodations are suitable."

"I wouldn't mind a shave and a bath," Artie retorted. His jaw was coated with several days' worth of whiskers, and his clothes were in dire need of laundering.

"I am so sorry about that," Loveless crooned. "But it won't be for much longer. Your good friend and mine, Mr. James West, is in Denver, frantically running in circles seeking you."

"I doubt that," Artie growled.

"Would I lie about such a delightful event? No indeed. Mr. West is being watched closely, and I'm receiving hourly reports on his activities. He is following up the clues I left quite diligently. He is such a superb agent."

Artemus frowned. How was Loveless receiving such prompt reports? He looked up toward the windows, then back at his captor. "Where are we?"

Loveless chuckled. "Not in Denver, I assure you. You were unconscious for quite some time, Mr. Gordon, while you were being transported. I can also assure you that there's no chance Mr. West will find you before I want him to do so. I intend to extend his torment over his helplessness at being unable to locate you to the limit. When the time comes, he'll receive the final clue and find his way here… to my lair." The blues eyes were glowing with anticipation.

Artemus got to his feet, gazing at Loveless. "Why do you hate Jim West so?"

The question seemed to surprise. "Isn't that obvious? He has foiled me at every turn!"

Artie shook his head slightly. "No. It's more than that. I've been there right alongside him, and you've already admitted that I have been almost a bigger fly in your ointment of world domination. Yet you don't seem to despise me as strongly. I'm pretty certain you're not going to simply release me into the world, to allow me to take up the pursuit. I don't understand why you would give your word to Jim that I will be freed at all."

Loveless came closer to the cage, now folding his arms across his chest. "You are a brilliant man, Mr. Gordon. I admire that in you. If I thought you could be turned, I would take you into my organization. But I know that, like Mr. West, you are disgustingly moral and righteous. I could never trust you."

"Why don't we give it a try?" Artie asked brightly.

Loveless chuckled dryly. "Ah, Mr. Gordon. Always ready to do whatever is necessary to foil me, aren't you? No, I'm afraid such as association would never work, much as I would enjoy having the benefit of your intellect."

"But we are getting away from the question at hand, aren't we?" Artie said. "And that was, why do you despise James West so intensely?"

"And I answered you," Loveless snapped back. "I will leave you now. I have work to do. Mr. West is waiting for the next clue." He started to turn away, then paused. "Do not fear, Mr. Gordon, I am not entirely heartless. I know of the friendship you and Mr. West share. I will allow the two of you a few moments to make your final farewells when the time comes." Whistling a cheerful tune, he almost skipped from the room.

Artemus Gordon sat down again. _I'm no alienist, but I think I know human behavior well enough to comprehend why Miguelito Loveless despises James West as deeply as he does. The abhorrence goes behind the fact that Jim has played a major role in blocking Loveless's despicable plans. In Jim's handsome features and perfect, athletic body, Loveless sees the man he would be, if fate had not played such a vile trick on him. I have no doubt that had he the choice, Loveless would give up his brilliance for the opportunity to be the man Jim West is._

WWWWWW

James West awakened with a start and for a moment was confused as to where he was. He sat up, looking around his hotel room. He had not intended to sleep, only to rest for a few minutes. The weariness caused by a lack of sleep in the last twenty-four hours, piled atop the ride from Cheyenne to Denver, had overtaken him.

But something had disturbed him. He knew that. Some sound…

He saw the folded piece of paper on the floor just inside the closed and locked door. Something slipped under the door. Had that been it? Or had someone knocked to make sure he noticed? Jim sat for a long moment and stared at the starkly white square against the darker carpeting. The sense of dread he was experiencing was strong. He knew without looking at it that this was not good news. In fact, he was certain he knew from whom it came.

Jim pulled his pistol from the holster he had placed on the stand beside the bed and went to the door, even while knowing that whoever delivered it would be long gone. Opening the door, he peered both ways down the hall. No one was in sight. Only then did he close and lock the door, before picking up the missive.

Just a plain sheet of paper, folded once. Opening it, Jim West stared at the familiar bold scrawl. Just eight words: _What will you trade for Mr. Gordon's life?_ No signature. None was needed. No explanations were required. And apparently, no immediate response was expected, for instructions for contacting the writer were not included.

_This is just the beginning. He's going to draw it out as long as he can._ More of Loveless's arrogance. He was always certain he had the perfect plan, the perfect hiding place. Maybe he did this time. Always before, somehow, James West and Artemus Gordon located Miguelito Loveless and foiled his plans. Working together, they had been successful in every aspect except that of stopping Loveless altogether, either by imprisoning him or killing him.

_Working together…_ But they were not together. Artie was Loveless's prisoner somewhere. The portent of the note was clear. Loveless wanted to bargain. And he had the greatest bargaining chip. The question was, what would he ask for in exchange for Artemus Gordon's freedom? Jim West was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.

Putting the note in a bureau drawer, Jim splashed cold water on his face and dried it, then donned his jacket and strapped on his gun belt. More often than not, both agents preferred hidden weapons–a sleeve gun, an under-the-coat shoulder holster–while in a city like Denver. In this instance, he wanted a visible and powerful weapon at hand.

Going downstairs, he asked the clerk at the desk if any unknown person had been seen entering the lobby and ascending the stairs within the last hour or so. The answer was negative. Only Harold delivering some newly-shined shoes. Jim thanked him and strolled out the front door, turning toward the shoeshine stand next to the alley that flanked the hotel. The boy was busily shining a gentleman's shoes. He glanced in Jim West's direction, but continued his work. Harold had not, however, been able to disguise the startled expression in his eyes.

Jim climbed into the second seat on the stand, picked up a newspaper and quietly feigned reading it as Harold finished with his customer. On the periphery of his vision, he saw the boy cast several looks at him. Jim was pretty certain Harold gave his client an extra-long shine on boots that were already reflecting the afternoon sun. Finally the man put an end to it himself, saying the job was fine, paying, then striding away. Harold immediately busied himself sorting and arranging his polishes and rags.

"How about a shine, Harold?" Jim said pleasantly after a couple of minutes.

"Oh. Oh sure, Mr. West. Only… only…" Jim could almost see the boy's brain working as he sought an excuse to flee. "I gotta go home. My Ma is expecting me!" Now he got to his feet, grabbing the wooden box that held his supplies.

"Harold." The quiet, authoritative voice halted the boy in his tracks, but he stood with his back to Jim. "Harold, did you just bring me a note?"

Harold shook his head vehemently. "No sir! No sir! I been here all the time. I didn't put a note under your door!"

Putting the paper aside, Jim stepped down, grasped the shoeshine boy's shoulders firmly, turning the lad around to face him. "Who said it was put under my door?"

Realizing his slip, Harold's face crumpled, tears welling and tumbling down his grimy cheeks. "I need the money, Mr. West. My ma… we got three little ones at home and Pa ain't been home for nearly a year now!"

Jim glanced around. He saw no one overtly watching them, but that did not mean that no one was. "Harold, so far as I know, you have done nothing against the law. I just want to know who paid you to bring that note to me."

Harold swallowed hard, wiped his mended shirtsleeve across his eyes. "I dunno his name."

"What did he look like?"

Jim was not at all astonished that the description came nowhere near fitting Miguelito Loveless. Harold said that the man was "fat," wore a checkered suit and a derby hat, and had a large black handlebar mustache. He paid Harold a five-dollar gold piece to take the note upstairs on one of his deliveries. He was _not_, the man emphasized, to make a special trip, but he should keep the note hidden inside his shirt until he put it under the door of room twenty-six.

"That's all I did," Harold wailed. "Honest, Mr. West. I didn't know it was something bad!"

_Yes, you did,_ Jim decided. _Otherwise you would not have been so fearful. _He kept his voice quiet and soothing. "Is this the same man who paid you to tell me about Mr. Gordon going to Miss Tilly's?"

If Jim's hand had not been resting firmly on his shoulder, Harold would have bolted. His thin body went tense, eyes widening even more than before as he realized he had been found out. When he managed to speak, too afraid not to under Jim's direct gaze, his voice was a hoarse whisper. "He paid me ten bucks, Mr. West! I couldn't say no! An'… an'… he said if I didn't do it, he might hurt me… or ma or my sisters!"

"I understand, Harold. Did you truly see Mr. Gordon go to the tearoom?"

"Yes, sir! Yes! He did! I seen him. He was with that lady, Miss Ambrose."

Jim's gaze narrowed. "Who is Miss Ambrose? How do you know her?"

"She used to work down to the Red Hat Club, over on East Fourth Street. I'd see her there when I'd go fetch Pa home for supper. He always went there after his job at the feed and grain store."

_So not a woman of higher society as the hotel employee believed._ "And you did not see Mr. Gordon come out of the tearoom."

"Well… no. Not exactly."

"What did you see?"

"Um, well, um, there was a wagon. Like a peddler's wagon, ya know? It stopped in front of Miss Tilly's, an' some men went in, an' they carried this big box out and put it in the wagon. I ain't never seen that before. I mean, I see folks go in and carry out little boxes of cookies and such."

"Harold, have you ever seen a small man, probably about your height, with gray hair and blue eyes?"

"Oh sure! He was driving that wagon, Mr. West!"

Jim gripped the boy's shoulders hard with both hands. "Harold, this isn't something else you were paid to tell me."

"Oh, no sir! No sir! I just seen it. Nobody said I should say it or not!"

Jim released the lad and dug into his pocket. "Harold, stay home the next couple of days. This should help make up for your lost work."

Harold took the gold coin, but did not put it into his pocket immediately. "Mr. West, I got clients who 'spect me to be here."

"I know, Harold, and I respect your devotion to your business. But you'd be better off at home looking after your mother and sisters."

The shoeshine boy reluctantly agreed, gathering up his materials and hurrying down the street. Jim watched him go, then looked around the area again, still unable to see whether anyone had been observing the conversation. Too many windows could have been hiding an observer. He found it difficult to believe that Loveless did not have someone watching him at all times.

He walked down the street to the building where the sign designating it as the tea room was still hanging. The front door was locked, and when he peered in the window he saw that all the bric-a-brac that had been on the shelf by the window were gone, as were the snowy cloths from the tables. The room was dark, no one was in sight.

Jim West returned to the hotel where he asked for his horse to be saddled. He then rode to Fourth Street and found the Red Hat Club, a rather sleazy-looking joint that may have seen better days, but Jim doubted it. At this time of day, the tavern was fairly empty, with just a half dozen hardy drinkers at the bar or tables. The odor of stale tobacco and alcohol mixed with perspiration and something Jim could not identify–and did not want to–was pervasive.

Though initially reluctant to talk to him, the bartender became more cooperative once Jim identified himself and his official status. Vivian Ambrose had not exactly worked at the Red Hat, the bartender said. She drew a commission for enticing men to drink, and if she earned anything else on the side, that was her business. He had not seen Vivian in close to a month now. He did have a faint recollection of seeing a man that matched the description of Miguelito Loveless, but could not exactly say when that was. As far as he knew, Vivian lived at the Royal Hotel two blocks down. A number of the women who entertained the clients at the Red Hat lived at the Royal.

Thus warned, the state of the hotel was not unexpected; it was a typical fleabag establishment. The desk in the tattered lobby was unoccupied, but after Jim banged on a bell a number of times, a slump-shouldered, balding man emerged from a door behind the desk, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "We ain't got no rooms," he grouched.

"I'm not seeking a room," Jim replied, his voice pleasant but face and eyes hard. "I'm looking for a woman named Vivian Ambrose."

The clerk glared at him. "You'll likely find her at the Red Hat!"

"But she has a room here?"

"She did." He shrugged.

Jim knew they could go in circles, so once again he displayed his official identification; once more the change in attitude was immediate. The clerk related that Vivian Ambrose kept a room at this establishment until maybe a month ago. Maybe a little longer. She just did not return one day, and after a couple of days, her room was cleared out and rented to someone else.

"You say cleared out. Do you have her possessions?"

"They're in a box until she comes and pays her back rent."

When Jim asked to see them, the clerk shrugged again and led him to a small room down a corridor, a room piled with boxes, trunks, and battered suitcases. "You just keep all this stuff forever?"

"Naw. The owner, he comes by ever so often and takes the oldest stuff. I guess he sells it somewhere. That there one, the crate with V.A. on it, that's Vivian's. Help yourself."

Jim did. He could not say he came away disappointed, because he had not really expected to find anything helpful. He was also only slightly surprised that Vivian appeared to have left virtually all her possessions behind. Jim knew that Loveless would have been offended if a woman in his employ was clad in cheap, tawdry togs such as those in the crate. More especially, Vivian could not have worn these clothes to trap Artemus Gordon.

The only item of interest was the folded piece of paper that he found laying on top of the clothing stuffed into the box. A slip of paper identical to the one that had been placed under his hotel room door, with an almost identical message: _What will you trade for Mr. Gordon's life? Your own?_

On his way to police headquarters, Jim thought about the various women who had become associated with Loveless over the years. A couple were in prison, others, like Antoinette, simply disappeared. He had always been most curious about Antoinette, the woman who had been devoted to Loveless, and he to her. Sometimes she had seemed to be nearly as mad as he, the perfect companion. Other women who came after Antoinette often appeared to merely be the sort of accomplice Loveless needed at the moment, from the incredibly naïve Priscilla Ames to the hard and knowing ones like Belladonna and Triste.

The police sergeant who spoke to him was very helpful, showing Jim the complete dossier on Vivian Ambrose. In her mid twenties, she had been arrested twice for graft and prostitution. The particular incident that caught Jim's attention was when Vivian had been arrested for trying to pass herself off as the heiress to a local fortune, where she posed as a well-educated woman with all the social graces one would expect of a woman of the social class of which she was purporting to be a part. She had spent a few months in the city jail for the fraud. So passing herself off as a "lady" might not be a stretch.

When Jim returned to the hotel in late afternoon, he was wondering if he had been right to withhold certain information from the local police. They knew, of course, that he was looking for his missing partner, and the department was extending all the help and cooperation they could. Every officer had a description of Artemus Gordon and the woman with whom he had last been seen. Jim was appreciative of that assistance, all the while aware that the police were not going to find Artie. _He_ was going to find his partner, and quite possibly not until Miguelito Loveless was ready, so not telling them about Loveless was probably not a mistake. That knowledge would not assist the police in any manner.

Leaving his horse in the stable again, Jim entered the hotel and went to the desk to ask for hot water to be sent to his room. He would wash up and shave, get a good meal… and go to bed. The fact that he dozed off earlier today was one indication of just how tired he was. Another was that he was having more and more difficulty sticking to one train of thought. A good night's sleep would work wonders.

The sight of the white square of paper laying on the bed shook the cobwebs from his brain, momentarily at least. Closing the door behind him, Jim West stood with his back against it for a long moment before crossing the room and picking up the paper. He knew that it was not the same one he had secreted in the bureau drawer. No reason for someone to drag that out and leave it here. This had to be a new one.

And it was. The same scrawl cover the page, a still longer note this time. _Well done, Mr. West. I have always known you were a fine detective. But you are no closer now than you were this morning. Do not contact the federal authorities. Lessen your contact with the city police. Mr. Gordon is well and sends his best. Will you trade your life to ensure his?_

Jim West sank down on the bed, barely aware that he knocked his hat onto the floor as he raked his fingers through his hair with one hand, the other still holding the note, which his eyes were fixed on. _I was right. He's watching me. But what is he waiting for? Why doesn't he tell me what he wants me to do?_

He shook his head slightly. The ransom was not a mystery. Loveless wanted him to surrender himself, supposedly to gain Artie's release. Jim knew Miguelito Loveless well enough to be certain that if the diminutive doctor gave his word that Artemus would be released, that would happen. However, Loveless had bizarre notions about honor, and just what giving an oath meant.

_He would have done brain surgery on me to alter my personality, my entire being. What's to say he would not do such a thing to Artemus Gordon before setting him free? I would have to be very explicit about what I was ransoming myself…_

"No." Jim spoke the word aloud as he got to his feet. _I can't allow Loveless to win. Not now. Not after all this time, all the battles we've waged and won. Artie would not want his life, his freedom, at the cost of mine._

A tap on the door startled him for a moment, until he remembered ordering the hot water. Still, he opened the door cautiously to admit a man with a steaming pitcher. On a hunch, Jim asked him if the maids had been on this floor this afternoon. Yes, indeed. Was there a problem? Jim then inquired if any new maids had been hired. The answer again was yes.

"If she did something wrong, I can send the manager up," the fellow stated.

Jim thanked him, said he would talk to the manager later, tipped the man and sent him on his way. Chances were that that new maid was no longer on the premises, nor would she return. Better to ask Mr. Grace to inform him if and when a replacement was hired. Could well be that Loveless was using some needy women just as he had used the shoeshine boy.

He shaved automatically, his gaze on his reflection in the mirror, but not really seeing it. The plans for supper and sleep had flown out the window. He would eat, but he knew he was not going to be able to settle down for a good rest, no matter how badly his body and mind screamed for it. Not yet.

_Loveless knows I've been in contact with the city police. Obviously he also knows I have not been near a telegraph office. Funny, I had not even really considered calling in help until I got that note. Now I know I need some. _And he thought he knew of a pretty good way to send a telegraph message without Loveless or his spies becoming aware. He also knew who to summon.

WWWWWW

Artemus Gordon leaned back, eyelids lowered, as though bored and disinterested, when in fact he was watching Barton carrying the tray back toward the door, following Vivian. Such gentlemanly behavior did not occur with every guard, but Barton helped her every opportunity.

At this point he was unsure how he would use the information, but he felt that knowing the size of the room might be important, so he had been counting the footsteps Vivian and the guards made, as well as the number of seconds consumed moving from one spot to another. He was spending a lot of time studying the layout, not only of the entire room, but of his little cell. He had paced around, as though simply being restless, but knew exactly how many steps he could take along the length, as well as the shorter width from the bench to the door. At least it helped to kill time!

Although at least one guard was present every time Vivian opened his door to feed him, long periods elapsed when he was left alone in the room. During those times, Artemus studied the wiring that purportedly electrified the bars of his cage. The ceiling was too high for him to reach, even if he stood on the bench, thus those wires were out of his grasp. Loveless undoubtedly had planned it that way, because otherwise he would have embedded the wires into the ceiling somehow. He was confident that his prisoner could not get to and sabotage the wires in any way.

The possibility remained that the bars were not electric at all. That when Vivian went to throw the switch in the wall nook, it was merely show. At this point, Artie had no way of knowing, no way to test other than touching the bars. Even if the charge was not as deadly as Loveless claimed, he really did not want to stun himself, not unless completely necessary. Loveless had electrified the bars around the town where he took Jim that time he attempted to create a double to assume Jim's role as an agent, so he could have done it here. Wherever here was.

At some point, Jim West was going to arrive, either as Loveless's prisoner or–more preferably–alone, having found his way to wherever this hideout was. Artemus had asked questions, direct and indirect, of Loveless, in an attempt to learn the location, but had been unable to elicit any information. If the building was not within the boundaries of the city of Denver, it certainly was not too far away. Loveless could not be receiving the information about Jim's activities so rapidly otherwise.

Loveless delighted in giving his current prisoner a blow-by-blow account of Jim West's travels around the city, including who he talked to, the results he received, even what food he had consumed during hasty meals. "I regret to say that Mr. West's eating habits have suffered this last day or two. It's a wonder he doesn't have indigestion. He's not getting his rest either." The doctor's eyes had glowed with delight as he related the tale of how his plans were upsetting James West.

According to Loveless, virtually every step Jim took these last couple of days had been predicated on some clue or lead that Loveless himself laid out. He was controlling the investigation, and thus would reel in Jim West when he was ready. Plainly Loveless was enjoying the torment he was causing. "Mr. West knows already what the ultimate outcome will be. He knows that everything he is doing is fruitless and in vain. He knows that in the end, he will submit to my demands. He has no choice, Mr. Gordon. It is the only way he can save your life."

Artie's deepest fear was that Loveless was correct. During their previous encounters with Miguelito Loveless, they had usually had the upper hand in the sense in that they learned what he was trying to do, and worked to stop him. In this case, Loveless was writing the drama, so to speak. Artie had asked him how he had known the two agents would be separated at this point in time, but Loveless had only chuckled. "That would be telling," he chortled.

_What I have to do is get the hell out of here before Jim walks into the final trap. Once he is a prisoner as well, we'll be in very deep trouble. _

One thing he had thought of was somehow distracting Vivian and the guards at the point where she would normally reactivate the electrification of the bars of the cage, a distraction which would cause them to forget to throw that switch. Only he could not come up with a plan. Simply feigning illness seemed too trite and obvious. Yet it might be what he would have to do, to try. It had to be believable.

_You're an actor, Artemus! You should be able to feign being sick…_

Problem would be fooling Loveless. Might not be too difficult to dupe Vivian and the guards. But if they called in Loveless… Artie knew he would have to play it by ear, so to speak, to be able to ad lib when the opportunity arose. The importance of escaping, and escaping soon, was paramount. He could not wait until Loveless succeeded in drawing Jim West into his web. Once that happened, all hope could be lost.

WWWWWW

James West stepped out of the front door of the hotel and paused, looking down the street. Slowly he brought his gaze around the opposite direction, and as he did, he heard a voice call his name. "Jim! Jim!"

He spun to stare up the board walkway, then called out loudly, "Artie! My God! Where have you been! I've been worried sick!" Jim strode forward toward the weary looking dark-haired man who was moving slowly. "Artie!" Jim grabbed his hand to shake it, then put both his hands on the other man's shoulder. "Artie, are you all right?"

"There's a man across the street who looks like he's seen a ghost," Jeremy Pike said in a low voice. Then louder, "It's a long, long story, Jim. I really need a cup of coffee… maybe a big glass of bourbon!"

Jim cast his eyes to the side where he could see a reflection of the opposite walkway, and he spotted the man in question hanging onto a porch post, staring wide-eyed at what appeared to be Artemus Gordon talking to Jim West. After a long moment, the man let loose of the pole and strode down the walk.

"Horses are in the alley, Jim," Jeremy said quietly.

"Let's give him a minute… pretend we're going into the hotel."

They had just reached the hotel's front door when they saw the man, now mounted, riding lickety-split to the north passed them. Without a word, Jim and Jeremy whirled and sprinted to the alley alongside the hotel. Jeremy had arranged to have Jim's black horse saddled and waiting with his own. They mounted and followed at a slower pace, just fast enough to keep the galloping horse within sight through town.

"Good job, Jeremy," Jim called as they rode side by side. "If I hadn't known, you might have fooled me this time."

Pike grinned briefly. "I doubt it."

Sometime back when the trio of agents were working together on a case, but had spent some lengthy time in the varnish car while waiting for some information, Gordon and Pike attempted to play a trick on Jim. Artemus had used his skills with makeup to cause Jeremy to appear almost as his twin. Jim had dozed off on the sofa, and in the late afternoon, with no lamps lit, Pike had awakened him, pretending to be Artemus.

The masquerade had not lasted long. Jim saw through it within minutes, and they all had a good laugh, jokingly discussing how Jeremy could stand in for Artie when the latter wanted some time off to spend with his ladylove, Lily Fortune. They also agreed that someone who did not know Artemus well could easily have fallen for it. But until now, the ruse had not been used.

Yesterday, Jim had pretended to be paying the bill for Artemus's room at the hotel, after moving his partner's possessions to his own room, and as he did so, he slipped a note to Mr. Grace, the manager, a man he felt he could trust. The note contained a coded message to be telegraphed to Jeremy Pike, whom Jim knew was not far away in Boulder, tying up loose ends in a counterfeiting case he was handling.

No time or opportunity had been available for Pike to respond, so Jim had acted on faith, hoping that as he stepped outside the hotel the following morning, he would see his "friend." He would never admit to either Pike or Gordon how his breath had caught for just a moment upon spying the figure coming toward him. He knew almost instantly that it was Jeremy Pike, but for just that instant…

"You're sure Loveless is involved, Jim?" Pike asked as they reached the outskirts of the city. Far ahead they could see the figure of the rider, and the dust his horse was stirring up.

"No doubt of it," Jim responded. "I received another note during the night informing me that I would soon receive the details of the transaction to be made." _Along with the usual triumphant taunts. Loveless is very, very sure of himself this time._

"Transaction?"

"The trade… me for Artie." He kicked the black into a faster speed.

Pike hurried his own horse to keep up. "You're sure that's what the deal would be?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Jeremy Pike did not ask the next question in his mind, for he knew it would be foolish to even inquire. He doubted Jim West would answer it anyway. Not aloud. The bond between James West and Artemus Gordon was strong, after all they had been through together. Their relationship was more like brothers than mere friends. Either man would willingly give his life for the other, and if it came down to it, Jim would surrender himself to Loveless in order to save Artemus.

Jim was glad that it had not rained in this area for a couple of weeks, though dark clouds were on the horizon. The dust that the horse ahead of them was stirring up was making it much easier to follow him, while remaining back where they might not be spotted. When they topped a rise and noted that the dust appeared to halt at a specific spot, the two agents slowed their horses. Looking off to either side as they rode, Jeremy spotted where the rider had cut off, a trail barely visible through the trees and undergrowth, but definitely a trail… with fresh tracks.

"Where the devil does this go?" Jeremy wondered aloud, leaning down to avoid a tree branch.

"I'm not sure," Jim replied. "I recall hearing about a couple of silver mines in this area that were predicted to be bonanzas, but turned into busts instead."

"Would Loveless hide out in a old mine?"

Jim shook his head slightly. "Only if he was able to furnish it in the comfortable luxury to which he is accustomed. Might be some buildings in the area, too. Whatever it is, guards will posted, so let's take it real slow."

WWWWWW

"Mr. Gordon, I'm so sorry to hear you are ailing this morning. Is there anything I can do?"

Artie put on his best scowl toward the small man standing outside the bars, and spoke in a hoarse tone. "You can stop poisoning me."

He almost laughed when he saw the genuine horror on Loveless's face. "Poisoning you!" Loveless screeched . "That's insane! Why would I poison you? A dead Artemus Gordon would not be worth much in the scheme of things!"

Artemus was lying on the narrow bunk, on his side, knees slightly drawn up, clutching his arms to his abdomen. "All I know is that every time I ate the slop you served, I started feeling worse and worse. You're poisoning me. You'll turn me loose if Jim West shows up, but I'll die soon anyway."

Loveless was patently horrified by the accusation as he leaned in closer to the bars, peering in. "You do look a bit bilious. Perhaps the meat was bad."

"Don't be ridiculous. Why don't you just admit it? You're murdering me, just as you plan to murder Jim."

Behind Loveless, Vivian Ambrose was watching and listening wide-eyed. She had been the one to summon the good doctor after Artemus Gordon turned town his second consecutive meal. Two guards were in the room as well, including Barton.

Artie was certain that Vivian reported that the prisoner "looked sick." He had improvised, pulling out some peas and green beans from the stew and secreting them in his bunk. When alone he had mashed those vegetables and smeared some of it, a very thin coating, around his eyes and mouth, just to give a bit of off color to his complexion. His beard was covering a good portion of his jaw now. Still, the "bilious" coloring would not stand for close inspection.

He had tried to convince Vivian that he did not need to talk to Loveless, that perhaps the opportunity to walk around a larger space, some fresh air even, might help. But the woman had been charged with his care, it seemed, and she was terrified that if he took sick and died, spoiling Loveless's plans, she would be blamed.

_So now we're winging it. I need to get the charge in the cage bars disabled, then if I can grab Loveless…_

Before anything further happened, the outer door slammed open and a perspiring, panting man rushed in. "What happened?" he demanded furiously. "Were you going to leave me hanging high and dry? How did he escape?"

Loveless had spun around, and now he asked angrily, "What are you doing here, Ferris? You are on the shift to watch Mr. West this morning!"

"And I saw him…" Now Ferris's eyes focused beyond Loveless, on the cage. "He's here! What…?"

Loveless's patience was short. "What are you talking about? Who's here? Why did you desert your post?"

Ferris pulled off his hat and wiped his shirt sleeve over his brow, never taking his eyes off the prisoner. "I swear. I swear to God, I saw him in Denver this morning, talking to West!"

Artemus had not moved, retaining his cramped position and feigning discomfort, but he had to lift a hand to rub over his face in order to compose himself. He knew what had happened. Jim West was not known as the cleverest agent in the service for nothing. He was always ready to use any bit of knowledge and experience. Pretty obviously, Jim remembered the trick Gordon and Pike attempted to play on him.

"You're mad, Ferris," the doctor snapped. "As you can see, Gordon is here, securely locked away. Have you been drinking?"

"No, no. God almighty, doctor, I wouldn't have… I didn't…" Ferris was thoroughly flustered now. He most certainly was aware of Loveless's reputation for dealing with people he felt betrayed or disobeyed him. "Dr. Loveless, I was watching West, like I was supposed to. He came out of the hotel, and I heard someone call his name. And there was Gordon! West called him Gordon, and they went into the hotel together."

Loveless folded his arms across his chest. "Did they? Are you certain?"

Ferris flushed. "Well, that was the way they was headed. But… I figured the whole deal had blown sky high and the best thing for me to do was to vamoose back here."

"With James West close on your tail."

Ferris opened his mouth, his color darkening, and then beginning to pale as he realized the spot he was in. He swallowed hard. "Honest, doctor. If you'd seen the guy–he looked just like Gordon. Spittin' image!"

"I have no doubt," Loveless replied coldly. "Mr. Gordon is not the only expert in makeup and disguise. Very shrewd of Mr. West to devise this ploy, but then I would have expected no less. I'll give you an opportunity to redeem yourself, Ferris. West is out there somewhere. Bring him to me… alive. Fulton, help him. Waters, go find the other men and warn them."

"You want us to go out and search?" Waters inquired as the very relieved Ferris headed for the door with Fulton.

"No. Not yet. I want you to be prepared in the very real event that Mr. West eludes Ferris and enters this structure. Remember, he is not to be killed!"

Artemus was somewhat startled to realize that Loveless was actually chuckling as he turned back toward the cage. The little man shook his head. "My admiration for James West knows no bounds. It's a shame we are on opposite sides. But that's the way it is, isn't it? Now, Mr. Gordon, about your health…"

"It has nothing to do with my health," Artemus spat back in a tight voice, feigning a spasm of pain in his gut. "You… poisoned me. Admit it!"

Loveless seemed truly distressed. "No, no, no. I swear to you, Mr. Gordon. Your wellbeing is very important to me at this point. Mr. West has to see you alive and well, so that he will acquiesce to my demands."

"But you plan to kill me as well!"

"No. I truly expect matters to come to the point where I will need to threaten your life in order to gain Mr. West's surrender. I will give him my word that you will be released unharmed." A mischievous smile touched Loveless's lips and glinted in his eyes. "Of course, he need not know that I have considered shipping you to Inner Mongolia to set you free. If you do not survive the trek to civilization, unarmed, with no food or warm clothing… well, then what can I do?"

"You're so thoughtful," Artie snarled. "Then why did you poison me?" He started to lift himself up, but fell back weakly, panting for breath.

Loveless threw his hands in the air in vexation, then spun toward the woman who was hovering nearby. "Vivian! Did you follow my instructions about fresh ingredients for the stew?"

"Oh, yes, doctor. The men ate the same food most of the time. No one else is sick."

"That's because the poison was put in my bowl," Artemus moaned in a weak voice. "I know about poisons. I know what the symptoms are. Why don't you admit it, doctor? You poisoned me."

"No, no, no! There's some other reason… Vivian, turn off the electric charge and then go to my quarters and fetch that small black bag. I'm going to need to do some tests on Mr. Gordon."

Artemus had closed his eyes, shamming weakness, but he popped them open again. "I'm not going to let you give me any pills or hypodermics! I'm not that crazy!"

"Really, Mr. Gordon, you are most exasperating." Loveless watched as Vivian went to the box in the wall and threw the switch, then he unlocked and pulled open the cage door. Vivian hurried from the room.

"You stay away from me!" Artemus cried, and again tried to lift himself, only to fall back with a moan.

"Now, now," Loveless murmured. "How do you expect me to find out what's wrong with you if you don't allow me to examine you?"

Artie threw an arm over his face, quite aware that as soon as Loveless touched him, the ruse would be over. "Keep away!" He tensed himself for when the opportunity presented itself for him to grab the doctor.

"Doctor! Doctor!"

The cry came from beyond the still open outer door, and Loveless turned to the man who dashed in, the one named Fulton. "What is it? What's happened?"

"We caught one of them."

"_One_ of them? How many are there? Did you capture West?"

"Not West. The one who fixed himself up to look like Gordon there. Ferris is bringing him in."

Loveless was silent a moment, digesting this turn of events. "Well, well. Seems I now have a second hostage. My word! Ferris, I owe you an apology."

The last was exclaimed as Ferris escorted a now bound man into the room, a man who appeared at first glance to be a duplicate of the prisoner on the cot. Loveless exited the cell, leaving the door standing open, as he approached Ferris and the new captive. Artemis remained still on the cot, waiting and watching.

_Where's Jim?_

"Incredible disguise, sir. Do you mind revealing your true name?"

Jeremy remained silent. He tried not to stare beyond Loveless at the cage where he could see Artemus on the bench. He did not look well, even green around the gills! What was going on here?

"Remove his wig and the putty on his face," Loveless instructed.

Ferris hesitated a moment, then followed the command. The dark, wavy hairpiece was tossed aside, as well as small pieces of makeup that had reshaped Pike's face to make him resemble Artemus Gordon very closely. Loveless watched carefully.

"Ah. I believe you are agent Pike. Am I correct? Fulton, see if he's carrying any identification."

Aware of the folder in his pocket, Jeremy shrugged. "I'm Pike."

"Where is James West?" Loveless demanded.

Again Pike refused to speak. Infuriated, Loveless ordered that he be put in the cell with Gordon, and the henchman pushed Jeremy inside. The door was closed and locked, but Artemus did not miss the fact that the switch activating the charge was not thrown. Loveless was too busy giving orders concerning the search for the missing agent.

Still bound, Pike looked down at the man on the cot. "Artemus, are you well?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," Gordon whispered. "Sit down and be quiet. Don't do anything to call their attention to us right now."

Puzzled, Pike obeyed, sitting down on the space created by the fact that Gordon was still curled up, as though cramping. After a few minutes, Loveless followed his men through the door; Vivian hesitated just a moment, then followed, pulling the door shut behind her.

Artemus let loose a loud sigh and relaxed his tensed muscles. He did not sit up. "Where's Jim?"

"Outside somewhere," Pike replied, grimacing. "I walked into a neat snare, even after Jim and I discussed the fact that the place was probably booby-trapped."

"Loveless is clever," Artie assured him. "His snares are not run-of-the-mill." Then he frowned. "Problem now is Loveless has both of us to hold over Jim's head."

"What's he doing? Why did he grab you?"

"For Jim. He expects Jim to surrender, accepting his word that he'll free me."

Pike was silent a moment. "He will, won't he?"

"Yes, damn it. We've got to get out of here. Normally the bars on the cage are charged with a high and deadly voltage. The excitement caused by your capture and the knowledge that Jim is near seems to have made Loveless forget to throw the switch."

"They also didn't search me very well," Jeremy put in. "Get the knife out of my boot and cut these ropes…"

He halted in his movement to lift his foot toward Gordon as the door opened. Both men fully expected to see Loveless enter, but instead it was Vivian, followed by Barton, who paused long enough to turn a key in the door then came toward the gave. Their faces were tense.

"Mr. Gordon," Vivian began, but her sweetheart interrupted.

"We don't want to get into murder."

"It's bad enough that we likely have to go to jail some," Vivian put in, "but we don't want to hang. We'll take our medicine, serve a few years. Then our lives will be our own."

Artie got to his feet. "Do you have the key to the cell?"

"No," Vivian said sadly. "The doctor only gives it to me when I'm bringing food."

"I've got my picklock," Pike said. "I have a feeling we'd better hurry, Artemus."

Artie agreed, first finding the knife in Pike's boot to cut his ropes, and then standing back while Jeremy expertly manipulated the lock on the door. "Where can we go?" Artie asked the nervous pair. The thought crossed his mind that this could be some sort of trick perpetrated by Loveless, but somehow he thought not. He saw how the couple joined hands, and how tightly those hands were clasped. Belatedly they had come to realize what their participation could cost them.

"We have to go through that door," Barton said, nodding toward the only door in the room. "That goes into the doctor's quarters. But there's back way from there… away from where they are hunting for West."

"So they haven't found him?" Jeremy inquired as the foursome began walking swiftly toward the door.

"Not yet. The doctor is fit to be tied."

"I'll bet," Artie murmured. _Getting out of here now is only half the problem. We may have to rescue Jim!_

WWWWWW

Jim West huddled in the depression in the ground, making himself as small as possible, and barely breathing. The brush he had pulled on top of himself was fairly substantial, but the air was still right now, perhaps the calm before the oncoming storm, so if the men prowling nearby noticed a branch, or even leaves, moving, his hideout might be discovered. He heard their conversations clearly, and knew that their orders were that he was to be taken alive.

_But I don't plan to be taken at all, boys._

He had sent both horses on down the road as soon as he saw Jeremy's difficulties. Pike had been trying to make his way to the far side of the old building below them when he must have triggered a tripwire, causing a heavy net to fall over him. Jim did not fault his fellow agent, even though they had discussed the possibility of snares. Just before seeing Jeremy caught, Jim had come ever-so-close to falling into a trap himself, barely avoiding a suspended log that could have knocked him flat. In spite of being a cerebral scientist, Loveless was also a woodsman; or perhaps it was due to his brilliance.

Through the sounds of the men calling to each other as they searched, Jim heard the angry, high-pitched tone of Loveless's voice, barking orders. Although he could not always catch exactly what Loveless was saying, he had a good idea. The doctor was in a rage that part of his plan was not working out just the way he wanted it.

How long would they keep up the search? Jim knew he could not move from his hiding spot until he was certain the men had gone back inside the building, or at least to another area. And crouching here under the brush, he was not going to be able to help Artie and Jeremy. The ploy to have Pike disguise himself as Artemus Gordon had worked to a point: they had found the hideout. But as the saying went about best laid plans…

He suddenly became aware that the sound of chatter among the searchers had ceased. Had they retreated inside, or perhaps to the other side of the building? Jim West was too savvy to attempt to look out, knowing that might just be what they were watching for. He remained very still, his pistol clutched in one hand, despite his legs were being to feel cramped.

"Mr. West!"

Loveless's voice boomed startlingly loud, and for one instant, Jim thought the little man must be standing directly over him. He quickly realized that some sort of magnifying system was being used, perhaps a megaphone. Or perhaps some invention of Loveless's. He continually came up with devices no other living human could conceive of.

"Mr. West!" the voice continued. "I know you are here. Mr. Pike did not make his way to this location alone. You were very clever in tricking my man to lead you here. But then, I would not have expected less of you. However, it's time to end the game. I now have both Mr. Gordon and Mr. Pike, giving me two aces instead of one. I can always play one, and hold the other. I'm sure you comprehend."

Jim West did comprehend. Very well. He closed his eyes a moment. Loveless meant he could kill one of the hostages and still have one available. He also knew that James West would not stand by and watch either man be slain.

"Mr. West! Surrender now and the original arrangement holds. I will release both Mr. Gordon and Mr. Pike when you are dead. You know you can take my word on that."

_Yes. I do. But I also notice you say, "when," not "as soon as," or "immediately upon…" _That bizarre sense of honor would require Loveless to free the hostages, but he was not giving any promises as to when or where, or in what condition. _And I cannot bargain because as soon as I speak, my position will be revealed._

"I am a man of limited patience, Mr. West. You know that well. I will give you three minutes to surrender. If you do not, I will bring Mr. Pike out here and execute him. Will you die with that on your conscience?"

Jim West knew he was in an inescapable trap. Though he could not see nor hear them now, he was certain that a half dozen men were near his hiding place. If he knew exactly where they were, he might attempt an escape, to shoot his way out. But they could be spread out in any direction, at any distance. He might get one, or two, but the others would have time to seek shelter and return fire. He might not die by whatever method Loveless had planned, but he would die. And so would the other two agents.

"I'm coming out!" he called.

Two men were within a half dozen feet of his hiding place as he pushed the brush away and stood up. He saw the astonishment and chagrin on their expressions. However, they were not too stunned to ignore Loveless's barked commands to disarm and bind him. That was done, his wrists secured behind his back, before he was led to where the doctor was standing near the big double doors of the old building that had been part of a smelter at one time.

Loveless was grinning widely. "Well, Mr. West. You led us on a merry chase. I'm almost sorry it has ended. That it has all ended. In some perverse way, I have enjoyed our little melees. But you have stood in my way too many times. With you in your grave, I will be able to carry out my plans."

"Don't count on it," Jim said in a low, icy voice.

Loveless smirked. "You think that your comrades can stop me? No. No, no, and no. You and Mr. Gordon know me better than anyone. It's that knowledge that has aided you in interfering with my plans, time and again. As I promised, Mr. Gordon will be released alive. And Mr. Pike as well. But I promise you, neither will be intruding into my plans again. Ferris, search him well. Mr. West is quite a clever rascal."

His pistol had already been taken, but now his gun belt was removed, as well as the derringer in an inside pocket, the knife at his back collar, and another secreted inside his boot. Jim almost smiled as he realized Loveless was apparently unaware of the secret compartment inside his heels, where some explosive putty was kept. However, he did not have his hat, in which a fuse was secreted. The hat was still in his temporary hiding spot.

With a man on either side of him, grasping his arms, and another following close behind pressing the barrel of a pistol in his back, Jim followed Loveless into the building. He was not surprised to find himself in sumptuous living quarters, carpeted, with a chandelier glistening from the ceiling, expensive sofas and chairs arranged decoratively among artwork and treasured relics.

Loveless eyed him, no doubt saw how Jim's gaze took in the room. "You like it? You know how I demand my creature comforts. What can I say? A weakness. I'm sorry I cannot invite you to sit down and enjoy a glass of wine. I have your favorite, Chateau Rothschild 1846, chilled to perfection."

Jim refused to bite, even while wondering how in the devil Loveless learned this small fact. He knew that the doctor had researched his history in preparation for his failed attempt to introduce a doppelganger into the Secret Service. But his favorite libation? However, Jim West had long ago ceased to be overly astounded at any of Miguelito Loveless's accomplishments.

"Now I know you are anxious to see that your comrades are in good health… and to say your farewells," Loveless went on, and gestured to one of the men who had been holding Jim's arm.

That man walked to a heavy door on the far wall, and tugged at the latch. He frowned, and pulled again, jiggling the latch. "Doctor, it's locked."

Loveless's expression matched his employee's, with some irritation thrown in. "Nonsense. We left it unlocked. Pike and Gordon could not get out of the cell. Try again."

"I am, Doctor. It's locked."

Loveless glared at him a moment, then went to an ornate cabinet, opened a drawer and produced a small ring of keys, which he tossed to the man near the door. That man inserted a key, pulled the door open… and froze. "Doctor!"

"Now what?" Loveless muttered, toddling toward the door. He stopped in the opening and, like his employee, became stock still. His words came out in something of a squeak. "Where are they? They can't have escaped!"

James West acted then, as he felt the other man's grip on his arms loosen, and the pressure of the pistol muzzle lighten against his spine. He first jammed his shoulder into the one grasping his arm, and in the same motion, spun so that his extended elbow knocked the gun barrel off to the side. While the first man was still trying to regain his balance, having stumbled into and knocked over a fine Queen Anne chair, Jim lifted a leg and slammed his boot into the midriff of the gun holder. He then dashed for the still open door.

Jim knew at least one man had not entered the building, and he was just outside the door. Having heard the beginning of a commotion, with Loveless screeching "Stop him! Grab him!" and the other three men yelling, this last man had taken a step toward the door. He was obviously startled to see the prisoner hurtling out the opening, thus Jim was able to use a similar tactic, ramming his shoulder into this one's chest, knocking him back into the nearby brush.

Regaining his own equilibrium quickly, Jim kept running, leaving the narrow path and heading back into the brush. He stumbled once, unable to use his hands and arms to balance himself, nor were they available to help him get back on his feet. Those few seconds allowed Loveless's men to gain in their pursuit, and they saw him. Whether or not Loveless had given actual orders, they started shooting at him.

He tried keeping trees between himself and his pursuers, but that was not always possible. Bullets whizzed by his head, and finally he felt one sting his left shoulder, causing him to lurch against a tree, losing momentum. He did not stop to try to look at the wound, but righted himself and kept going.

His only plan was to try to reach the road. His horse would not have gone far, and would be within hearing distance of a whistle. Mounting with his hands bound behind him would not be easy, but he knew he could accomplish it.

_Where's Artie and Jeremy?_

That thought kept spinning in the back of his mind. Loveless had seemed to believe they were in an escape-proof situation, yet they had somehow gotten away. Jeremy knew Jim West was nearby. Would they have simply taken off without checking on his situation? If they were in the vicinity, surely they had heard Loveless's words through the megaphone.

Jim West began to realize that the wound in his shoulder was more severe than he originally believed. He could feel blood running down his back and arm, and the shoulder was beginning to throb, draining his strength. His breath was coming in gasps now, but he could not stop to rest. Loveless's men were not shooting as often now, but they were behind him, and gaining ground.

Worse, he was beginning to wonder if he had lost his bearings. He had not thought that the rough road on which he and Jeremy had approached the old mine was that far away. Or was it only seeming to be a longer distance because of his waning strength?

_I've got to stop and rest. Find a place to hide…_

He looked around frantically. Undergrowth was thick through here; he had had to crash through some of it to make his way. Yet he saw no place that he could duck into, especially one that his pursuers would not immediately spot. They were too damn close, not giving him time and opportunity to inspect the area.

Perhaps because he was looking from side to side, rather than the path ahead, his boot toe caught on a large root and Jim West plunged forward, hitting the ground hard on his injured shoulder. For just an instant, his being was paralyzed with agony, but the nearing shouts brought him around quickly. However, getting back to his feet this time was not as easy as previously.

He had just gained one knee under him when a hand grabbed his arm. Surprised, because he had not realized Loveless's men were so near, Jim twisted in an attempt to free himself from the grip, cursing aloud as he did so.

A hand clasped over his mouth and a familiar voice spoke in his ear. "Jim! It's me!"

Artemus and Jeremy pulled him into the brush, and the three men lay quietly as several men rushed by. As the hunters trotted by, Artie heard one say, "I'm damn sure I hit him. He can't get far." At that same moment, as Jeremy was using his knife on Jim's bonds, Artemus saw the blood staining his partner's shoulder and coat sleeve.

"That looks bad," he whispered.

Jim shook his head. "I'm all right. We've got to get out of here."

"Come on," Artie said, taking Jim's uninjured arm to help him to his feet. "We've got a hideout, but I don't know for how long."

The volume of the yells from the searching men indicated they realized that their quarry had somehow eluded them. Jim recognized the voice of Loveless among them, barking orders. "How many men does he have?" Jim asked as his fellow agents guided him through the trees. The direction was away from the building where Loveless had his headquarters, but also away from the road.

"I'm not sure," Artie replied. "I saw at least four while I was caged up, but I also got the impression others were present. Vivian and Barton will know."

"Who?"

"You'll meet them. Save your strength, pal. We need to get you bandaged up."

"It's just a scratch."

Artemus did not respond, quite aware of his partner's stoicism. Even now, Jim needed the assistance of both himself and Pike to stay on his feet, but he would never admit to that being the case.

"Careful, Jim," Jeremy cautioned, "we're going into a stream here to help hide our trail."

Not much of a stream now. Although the stream bed was seven or eight feet broad, the water running through it now was only a couple of feet wide, so Jeremy dropped back to allow Artemus and Jim to move through it side by side, staying in the water, and the rocky bed over which it flowed, and not in the soft sand on either side. The water flowed down from a nearby hill. Its passage had been blocked and somewhat diverted by mining activities in years past.

"Not much farther," Artie murmured, quite aware that Jim was struggling now to keep his legs under him. Unfortunately their way was somewhat uphill now, making movement even more difficult. Still, Jim doggedly moved on, his jaw clenched.

Jeremy stepped out of the stream onto some mossy rocks, and grabbed Jim's other arm again. "Just in time," Artie said softly, as he felt the sag in Jim West's body and saw how his head lolled down against his chest.

Without speaking, Pike and Gordon each grabbed one of Jim's legs, lifting him chair fashion as they rushed toward the nearby hillside. A large clump of dry brush resting against a high bank there suddenly moved aside. Barton stepped out, peering around worriedly.

"Are they coming?"

"Not yet," Artie replied, "but they are bound to widen the search area. Let's get inside. Jeremy…?"

"I'll make sure we didn't leave any tracks," Pike confirmed, stepping away to allow Barton to take his place in carrying Jim West.

They took him deep into the old mine. They had found an old lantern still containing coal oil, and it was now burning low to provide a bit of light. Vivian Ambrose emerged from a deep recess where she had been hiding when Barton went to check on sounds they heard. As soon as Gordon and Barton put the wounded man on the ground, she knelt down and began to pull his jacket and shirt aside.

Artie glanced at Barton, then looked at her. "You do that like you know what you're doing."

"My daddy was a doctor in the war. I helped him sometimes." She had pulled Jim over onto his unwounded side in order to palpate the bloody wound carefully with her fingers. "The bullet is in there. Not very deep but causing a lot of bleeding."

Artie shook his head grimly. "Not much we can do about it right now. We need to stop the bleeding though."

"We can do that," Vivian said, getting to her feet and unabashedly lifting the skirt of her dress so that she could pull down one of her several petticoats. She and Artemus fashioned a bandage around the wound, hoping it was tight enough to stay the severe bleeding for awhile at least.

"What are we going to do now, Mr. Gordon?" Barton inquired. He knew without saying it out loud that having a weak and wounded man was going to hinder their escape.

"How many men does Loveless have?" Artemus asked in return. He knew he should have learned this earlier, but the occasion had not arisen. They had been too busy trying to keep track of what was happening to Jim West, finally having his escape called to their attention by the gunshots. Earlier they heard Loveless's ultimatum boomed through the megaphone; when it silenced, Artemus and Jeremy knew why. Upon hearing the commotion, they had then made their way through the brush, uncertain of what they could do, but ready to help in any manner that presented itself, which is exactly what happened when they saw Jim stumble and fall.

"A dozen all told," Barton answered. "But they ain't all here. Four stay in town, or they was, watching West. They took turns so he wouldn't notice the same one all the time. He'd keep four-five of us at the building. The rest are in a cabin about a half mile east. The doctor didn't want no one noticing lots of men hanging around. Likely he's sent someone for them, if they ain't heard the ruckus and come already."

"That means at least seven or eight," Artemus said quietly. "Not good odds, especially when we have just one gun. My first inclination is to suggest we remain here until dark, but that's six-seven hours away. I assume Loveless knows about these mines." He looked at Vivian and Barton.

Barton nodded. "I don't think he's been here personally, but he talked about them a couple of times. I think… I think he planned to bury Mr. West in one of them so that his body would never be found."

"I don't think I'd like that."

Artie swung his head around to look down at his partner. "Jim, don't try to move. You might start it bleeding again." He put a hand on Jim's shoulder to stop the attempt to rise.

Jim sank back down on the hard floor, aware of how weak he felt. "What happened?"

"You passed out."

"Obviously," Jim retorted, dryly. His gaze was on the two people he had never seen before. "Where are we?"

"In an old mine tunnel. This is Vivian Ambrose, Jim, and her friend Ben Barton." Artie discerned that Jim had recognized Vivian by her unmistakable description, thus the puzzled frown on his face. "They decided they did not want to be involved in murder."

"Mr. West," Vivian spoke quickly, "I'm very sorry for what I did. I didn't know the extent Dr. Loveless was going to go. He told me he needed my help kidnapping Mr. Gordon to collect an old gambling debt."

Jim's gaze shifted to the young man at her side. Barton's own eyes dropped. "My excuse ain't so good, Mr. West. I knew what he had planned. Only the money sounded good and he said we'd never get caught. Then I met Viv…"

"And because of their feelings for each other," Artemus put in, "they decided to help me and Jeremy escape."

Jim looked around quickly. "Where is Jeremy?"

"Good question. He was going to obliterate our tracks, but he's been awhile. I'll go look…"

Just as Artemus got to his feet, the brush at the mouth of the mine moved aside as Pike stepped in quickly, pushing the cover back in place in the same movement. "They're all over the place," he said, coming toward the group. "It's probably just a matter of time before someone remembers seeing a mine opening here, rather than the brush. How are you, Jim?"

"I'm okay. How do we get out of here? Sounds like we're boxed in."

Artie's face was grim as he nodded. "I have to agree with you there. We ducked into the first shelter we could find after we left the building. I have a feeling that our only chance is hope that they don't think of these old mines. We might have a chance, after dark."

Ben Barton was shaking his head. "Mr. Gordon, I don't know if that's going to happen. Some of the boys explored around here to kill time, kind of hoping to pick up a nugget or two. One of them is bound to notice. I was thinking I could go back…"

All eyes were on the young man, and Vivian grabbed his arm. "Ben, no!"

He patted her fingers. "Honey, I'll tell him Mr. Pike and Mr. Gordon tricked me, got my gun, and forced me to go with them."

"It won't work," Jim said. "Loveless would never believe you. We'd better all stick together."

"Jim is right," Artie concurred. "Ben, any idea how far back this tunnel goes?"

Barton shook his head. "I was never one to go into these mines. Too spooky. Besides, no one ever found any gold nuggets."

"I'll take a look," Jeremy volunteered.

"Take the lantern," Artie told them. "We'll get enough light through the brush covering for now."

Pike pulled the pistol from his belt. He had carried it when he and Artemus went out to see if they could help Jim after hearing the ruckus from the direction of Loveless's headquarters. "You better hold onto this, then."

"Artie, help me sit up."

Artemus looked at his partner, and knew that if he did not offer his assistance, Jim would attempt the feat by himself. He caught Barton's glance and nodded to him, then the two men carefully helped Jim West to a sitting position, leaning against the wall.

"I have some putty in my boot heels," Jim said. "Loveless didn't take it. But I don't have a fuse."

"Neither do I," Artie grumbled. Then his eyes fell on the pile of rags left over from Vivian's petticoat after making bandages. "We might be able to manufacture something, though."

Working in the extremely dim light of the tunnel was difficult, but Artie and Vivian set to work stripping the cloth into thin shreds, while Barton hovered close to the entrance and tried to keep track of the movements outside. Jim attempted to help with the cloth, but soon found that the effort was too much, especially when he had to use his wounded arm.

They broke each chunk of explosive putty into four pieces, the smallest Artemus felt might be usable, so they needed eight fuses. "They aren't going to do much damage at that size," Artie admitted, "but they could provide the distraction we may need."

Jim had told them about the horses. He was certain his black would hang around, and hoped that Jeremy's mount would linger with the other. "Two horses for five people is going to be awkward, but the most important thing is getting to them."

"Shh!" Ben Barton hissed from the mine opening, gesturing with his hand.

Immediately they understood the reason for his warning as loud voices sounded just beyond the brush partition. Artemus handed the pistol to Jim, then pulled the matches that Ben had given him earlier from his pocket. He had three of the explosives ready as they waited tensely, all four exhaling in relief as the voices moved off.

"Well, they didn't remember this particular mine," Jim muttered. "Maybe bought us a little more time. Artie…"

"Yeah?"

"When you do make a break, you have to leave me behind."

Artemus Gordon smiled. He was not astonished. He had, in fact, expected to hear this from his partner at some point. "I have a strong back, my friend. We'll go together."

Jim did not argue further. Time and circumstances would tell the tale. If they needed to move fast, he would be a deadweight. Jeremy Pike returned then, his face grim, and his news equally so. The tunnel pretty much ended a hundred or so yards back, with no other exit available. They were going to have to leave by the front door, or not at all.

"Then it has to be after dark," Jim said, "and as soon as it begins to darken, that lantern is going to have to be extinguished."

Pike lifted the light a little. "I don't think that's going to be a problem. I doubt there's enough fuel in it to last until nightfall."

"Then blow it out," Artie said. "Just in case we do need some light later."

No one objected as Jeremy extinguished the flame. He placed the lantern off to one side in what he hoped would be an area not only protected from accidentally kicking it over, but where it could be found when needed. He then went to take Barton's place at the entrance.

Artemus could see that Vivian was extremely nervous, as she nestled against Ben Barton when they sat down together against the wall, so he sought to distract her with a question. "Vivian, how did a doctor's daughter end up… in these circumstances? Forgive me if I'm being too inquisitive."

"Not at all, Mr. Gordon. I told you when we first… came here… that Dr. Loveless promised to help me get away from my… my job. I could have said, back to where I originally came from. My parents and I lived in a small town in Maryland. Mother died when I was twelve, and then, as I mentioned before, Father gave his services to the Union Army as a surgeon during the war.

"Unfortunately, he became ill, and after the exhausting work he had been doing, was not able to withstand the illness. He died soon after the war ended. I had been living with my grandmother, who also passed away. Suddenly I was alone, and virtually without a home, because everything had to be sold to cover the expenses of illness and funerals. I was not quite nineteen. A man…" Her Vivian paused and looked at her sweetheart. Obviously he knew the story, Ben smiled and nodded encouragement.

"A man induced me to go west with him. I thought we were to be married. Instead, he… he sold me to a madam in Omaha. I had absolutely nothing, knew no one, so I felt I had nowhere to turn. Eventually though, I was able to save enough money to come to Denver, hoping to find a job in a store or restaurant. That was not to be, and in order to survive, I turned to doing what I knew best. When Dr. Loveless came to me with his offer… I knew that if I had enough money to go somewhere that no one knew me, I could start my life again."

"Leave it to Loveless," Jim said softly. "He knows how to manipulate people."

"Very likely," Artie put in, "he knew your history before he approached you, knew how desperate you were."

"And I was! I was so tired of that life. But then I met Ben."

Barton's arm tightened around her shoulders. "I hate to think where my life was going," he said. "I thought being an outlaw was the way to the top, that I was going to be a big man, with lots of money, in no time. I'll admit freely that I pulled a couple of robberies, and I'll also admit it wasn't near so thrilling and profitable as I thought it would be. It was downright terrifying, if you want to know the truth.

"Ferris, one of Loveless's men, brought me into the scheme, and like Viv, I thought it was going to be the means to an end, a way to get myself out of the mess. And maybe it would have. But I sure would not have wanted it on my conscience, knowing I had a hand in murdering Mr. West, and Lord knows what was going to happen to you, Mr. Gordon. Loveless would just laugh and laugh when he talked about how he was going to fool the two of you."

"He would have kept his word," Artemus said, "and let me go. But he already told me he was thinking about releasing me in Outer Mongolia or some such place!"

"You speak Mongolian, don't you, Artie?" Jim asked, smiling.

"I would have learned dang fast!"

The group settled into a silence then. Jim could see that the brief conversation had helped both Vivian and Ben. He would like to know more about both of them, especially how Vivian lured Artemus into Loveless's snare. But that could come later. The pair had helped Artie and Jeremy escape. That was the important thing. Now they all had to get out of this almost self-imposed trap they were in.

Artemus took Jeremy's place by the entrance after noticing the other agent's head nodding. Pike stretched out on the hard floor of the mine and was soon dozing. Jim knew that Jeremy had not been able to get much sleep last night because of his jaunt from Colorado Springs to Denver.

Experiencing the effects of his wound, Jim West nodded off, his chin dropping on his chest. Artemus noticed and considered trying to move him to lay down, but decided that if he did that, his partner would likely deny that he was even sleeping. Artemus had just checked his pocket watch by a beam of sunlight that slipped through the barrier, noting the time was a little passed four, when the voice suddenly boomed from outside.

All jerked to attention, including Jim West, who instantly regretted the sharp involuntary movement of his body. But everyone froze, hearing Loveless's voice, even though also almost immediately being aware that he was not as close as his voice sounded. He was using the megaphone again.

"Mr. West! Mr. West!! I know you can hear me. I know you are still in this vicinity. I will find you, you know. And if it comes to that, all previous bargains are off. I will arrange for the deaths of the entire party… and allow you to witness those deaths before your own merciful demise. Surrender now and I will adhere to the deal we made. Mr. Gordon and Mr. Pike will be allowed to go free, as soon as you are dead and buried. Same for Miss Ambrose and Mr. Barton. Their lives are in your hands, Mr. West. You have one hour until this offer is null and void. Just walk out with your hands up. Wherever you are."

Artemus Gordon swung his gaze toward his partner. Even in the dimness, he could see the expression on James West's face. "No, Jim. No deal."

"Artie…"

"Artemus is right, Jim," Jeremy put in. "I'd rather take my chances on trying to escape after dark."

Now Jim looked at the young couple huddled against the wall nearby. "You two have a vote."

"Mr. West," Vivian spoke promptly, "I decided to help Mr. Gordon to escape because I did not want to be responsible in any way for your death. If you surrender to free us… I could never live with myself."

"Same here," Ben said firmly. "Maybe it sounds a little selfish, but I look at it this way. If Dr. Loveless kills you, Viv and I are still responsible, still face the possibility of arrest and prison… or worse."

"There you go, Jim," Artie spoke in a light tone, "democracy in action. You're outvoted." He watched his partner closely in the dimness, and recognized the expression on Jim West's face. He was not accepting the "vote." He would willingly sacrifice himself if that truly freed the others.

Maybe the bullet wound was a blessing in disguise, weakening Jim so that he could not act as decisively as he might wish. Artemus knew, however, that a mere bullet was not going to stop Jim West if he made up his mind. No, they would need to keep an eye on him, and he saw by Jeremy's face that he was having exactly the same thoughts. Pike did not know Jim as well as Artie did, but he knew him well enough.

"One hour to Loveless's ultimatum," Jeremy said, "and about three hours until darkness starts settling in. Shouldn't be much of a moon tonight, and what there is could be covered by the clouds if they roll all the way in. That'll work to our advantage to an extent–except that it'll mean we won't be able to see our way very well."

"The good news and the bad news," Artemus said. "We know Loveless will have men out after dark. I have no doubt they are out there now, if not thrashing the brush for us, at least watching."

"All the more reason why I should give myself up," Jim spoke doggedly. "If I go out there, it could cause enough distraction for the four of you to get to the horses. Then you might have a chance to get some help and come back for me."

"No," said Artemus.

"No," said Jeremy.

"No," Ben Barton and Vivian Ambrose spoke at the same time.

"It's like I told you, James," Artie spoke in that light tone again, a tone with iron behind it, "democracy in action. You are not turning yourself over to Loveless. That's final. Get used to it."

"Besides, Mr. West," Vivian said in a rather arch voice, "I doubt if you can even get to your feet without help, let alone walk!"

Jim West glared at her a moment, then attempted to accomplish the feat. To his utter consternation, he found she was correct. He would need both arms to push himself to a standing position, even with using the wall for a brace, and his injured arm and shoulder simply would not bear his weight, no matter how much he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"The bullet's still in there, Jim," Artie said gently, helping him to sit down again. "Until that comes out, the healing will not commence. In fact, unless we are able to get you to a doctor to have that pellet removed soon, you know the consequences."

Jim did. The lead would poison his blood, causing fever. He would not admit to anyone, of course, but he sensed that was occurring already, adding to his weakness. The bullet had been under his flesh for several hours now.

"Mr. West!" Loveless's familiar tone blared through the air. "One half hour remains. Thirty swiftly-passing minutes. Will you allow your fellow agents and the innocent Miss Ambrose to go to their painful deaths because of you? Just walk out of your hiding place. I guarantee safe passage to your companions. Twenty-nine minutes!"

"Suppose I start yelling loud enough to lead Loveless's men to us," Jim stated.

"Suppose I tie you up and gag you," Artemus responded.

Jim West stared at his partner. He thought he had never seen Artie so angry. The anger was in his voice and on his face. "I'm sorry, Artie," Jim said quietly.

Artie dropped to his haunches in front of his partner. "Jim, don't you get it? You're feeling guilty because you think your safety may cost us our lives. Well, think how we feel! If we allow you to surrender to Loveless, we'd be haunted the rest of our days. I have no doubt Loveless would keep his word and free us. But chances are we would first witness your death. Believe me, buddy, that's not something I want in my dreams for the remainder of my life."

Jim expelled a breath. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

"The only thing we can do, and that's wait until full dark and try to get to the horses. We understand how slim our chances are. But we have to try. And we'll drag your sorry carcass along with us."

Jim West had to laugh. "All right, partner. I think I'm getting the message. Too damn bad we don't have some water in here."

"I suppose you'd like to have a satin covered pillow as well."

"You have one handy?"

Artemus reached out and touched his partner's shoulder for a moment. Then he got to his feet and went to relieve Ben at the brush covered opening. He was sorry he had allowed his frustration to get the better of him for an instant, but at least he seemed to have gotten through to Jim. _He'll bear watching though, and not only because of the poison the lead bullet is introducing to his blood system, especially if his fever rises. He may still try to surrender to Loveless._

Again silence fell over the besieged group. Occasionally they heard voices from beyond the mine entrance, but none particularly close. Loveless made another call for their surrender about fifteen minutes before deadline, irritation sharp in his tone as he appealed to Jim West's sense of nobility, his honor. Was he going to allow his friends to die because of him? Artemus knew that the tightness of Jim's mouth was not entirely due to the pain of his wound. However, Jim remained quiet.

Then, as the minutes ticked down, a very angry Miguelito Loveless let them know that his patience and thoughtfulness had expired. His men now had orders to shoot to kill one and all. He was positive his former prisoners and the would-be rescuers were nearby. "I have twenty men surrounding the premises, Mr. West. You cannot get away, no matter where you are secreting yourselves now. You have to come out sometime. You need water and food, and you have no weapons. One last chance. Surrender in the next sixty seconds. That's all you have. Sixty seconds."

Artie was sitting next to his partner when that announcement was made, and he looked at Jim. "Don't even think about it, pal."

Jim West sighed audibly. "Artie, Loveless is mostly right. We can't stay here without food and water. He doesn't know we have the one gun, but that's not going to do us much good against however many men he has out there, whether it's actually twenty or not. Even a half dozen may be too many."

"Well, there's a first. Jim West giving up."

This time Jim was the one who displayed anger. "I'm not giving up! I'm talking common sense!"

"Jim," Jeremy Pike knelt down in front of him. "You heard our decision earlier. We all know that Loveless would keep his word… to an extent. I don't know about Artemus, but I sure as hell don't relish the idea of being alive but being blinded, or crippled in some manner. Above all, I don't want Loveless to win!"

Jim West took a deep breath and expelled it. He knew the truth of Pike's words. Artie had already informed them of Loveless's threat to strand him in the middle of nowhere, expecting him to perish before reaching civilization. Loveless's sense of honor was there, but it was one adapted to his own eccentric purposes and peculiar morals.

"Okay. Okay. It's too late now anyway."

All they had left for them was the cover of darkness, and then nature took a hand when rain began to fall. That meant clouds would obscure any moonlight, as well as the stars. Although they heard thunder in the distance, no lightning flashed in the immediate vicinity. That was good, for lightning might expose them to view.

Upon discussing their plans, they decided it would be best to string out somewhat during the escape. Jeremy would lead the way, and the gun would be in his possession. Ben and Vivian would trail him by twenty or thirty feet, while Jim and Artie brought up the rear. Jim did not attempt to argue with his partner. As much as he hated to yield to the weakness in his body, he knew he could not manage on his own, and he also knew that Artemus would not consider any plan except helping him.

They also came to the conclusion that they should not leave immediately upon full dark, even with the awareness that the rain might slacken, because Loveless's men would be on full alert, expecting an escape at that time. By waiting an hour or two, those watchers could get restless, less attentive, especially if they had to be out in the rain themselves, while their boss was inside enjoying his cozy room, warm and dry.

The thirst of all the people in the mine tunnel made it more difficult to remain there while hearing the rain fall. Not knowing where any of Loveless's men might be stationed, they did not dare move the barrier until they were ready to leave. The only thing that was accomplished was that Vivian was able to get a handkerchief wet and used it to bath Jim West's increasingly warm face and neck. At first Jim tried to fend her off, but even he admitted that the coolness helped.

Jim was the one who persuaded Artie and Jeremy that they'd better get him on his feet and moving around a bit before they actually departed. He was weak, but he was also stiff from sitting and laying on the cold, hard floor of the tunnel. Artemus realized it was a good idea because they then realized just what shape Jim was in, and it was not good.

"Can you manage him on your own?" Jeremy asked quietly as Jim sank to the floor in exhaustion.

Artemus responded grimly. "I have to. If we bunch up, our chances of being spotted increase. Frankly, I hope the rain continues long enough. The cooling effect may be beneficial on Jim's fever. If he goes into delirium, it might be difficult to keep him quiet."

"Think we should go soon?"

"Yeah. Very soon."

The minutes crawled by slowly. Jeremy could not see his pocket watch in the darkness, so he went deep into the tunnel a couple of times to strike a match. Finally, he announced it was getting on towards ten o'clock. "Loveless's men have been out there for hours, in the dark and rain."

Jim and Artemus agreed it was time to move. The plan was for Jeremy to leave, and about two minutes later, Ben and Vivian would follow. They had discussed the route, all trying to remember the layout of the grounds between the mine and the road. Artemus was certain his memory was correct. "I have an unerring sense of direction," he proclaimed.

"Except when you're lost," Jim had deadpanned, drawing one of the few laughs from the group that day.

They did decide on a general direction, though being quite aware that in the depth of the night, hindered by the rain, nothing was going to be easy. "Just try to keep going in one direction," Jim urged as Artie was getting him to his feet and Jeremy was about to push through the barricade. "Maybe you'll see a light from the building. If so, use that as a guide… but stay away from it."

"Jim," Jeremy reminded, "we're going to need you there to whistle for Blackjack."

"I'll be there," Jim West replied confidently. "And so will the horse."

Without a further word, Jeremy slipped out. The others stood in silence, Artemus counting to himself. When he reached one hundred and twenty, he urged the couple to go. "If you hear any trouble ahead–if Jeremy encountered anyone–steer clear. Don't try to help him. Understood?" Even as Ben and Vivian concurred, Artie wondered if he and Jim would be able to obey that admonition.

"Okay, James," Artie said after two more minutes. "Our turn. Ready?"

"No, but let's go."

He had his good arm slung over his partner's shoulder, while Artie's arm reached around his waist. This was going to be damn slow going, but he also knew he could not make it on his own. His system was weakened by the shock of the wound, the loss of blood, and the poison seeping into his body from the bullet lodged in the back of his shoulder.

The rain was coming down in torrents, cold and fresh. For a moment, Jim lifted his face and allowed the drops to strike his tongue. Not nearly enough, but it helped. He saw Artie do the same. They were both soaked in moments, but paid it no mind.

"So far so good," Artie murmured as they slogged across the stream, which was running more swiftly now after several hours of rain. They had not heard any sounds above the noise of the rain hitting the ground and surrounding trees.

"Just don't go off course. We don't want to end up on Miguelito's front porch."

"Don't worry. I'm a veritable compass. You okay?" Artie thought he heard his partner issue a grunt of pain.

"I'm fine. Keep moving." Jim had stepped in a small depression, which caused his boot to slip to one side, and the slight twisting of his body had brought renewed throes of pain to his shoulder. But it passed swiftly. The cold water running over his head and down his body, soaking his clothes, was helping immensely, renewing his energy and sharpening his senses. He knew he still required Artie's help, but he was feeling better than he had since being carried into the tunnel.

Artemus Gordon knew he should be happy that they encountered none of the guards, but he was not. If Loveless had recalled all his men, at least ten should be out here. Even if they were tired and disgruntled after a fruitless day in the rain, they should be somewhere in the vicinity. Loveless did not countenance slackers and undoubtedly these hirelings knew it. He hoped that the three who preceded them were having similar freedom of movement. Jeremy, for one, would have at least fired off his pistol if he ran into trouble.

"Hold it!"

_You should have know it was going too well, Artemus._

The voice came from a man who stepped out from behind a big tree. His eyes accustomed to the darkness, Artie saw plainly the pistol in his hand. "We're unarmed," he said quietly.

"That's no problem. I got orders to shoot to kill. Where's the others?"

"Coming along behind," Jim said quickly. He slipped out of Artie's grasp to lean wearily against the tree, grasping his wounded shoulder. "We should have know it was useless, partner. Especially with me shot up so badly."

Artie was unsure what Jim planned, but he knew he had to play along. "Yeah. My fault. You tried to convince me to surrender earlier. I'm surprised we got this far. Where is everyone?"

"Oh, they're around. But I'm going to get the lion's share of the bonus Loveless offered, because I'm going to kill you two." He obviously believed that the injured Jim West was little threat, because he aimed his weapon at Artemus.

Jim West drew in a deep breath, aware of what he was going to need, every ounce of strength he still possessed. A tree limb was just above their heads. Willing his injured arm into action, and for his body and brain to ignore the pain he knew was coming, Jim swung both arms up, grabbed that branch, lifting himself off the ground. Bringing his legs up, he slammed his boots into the chest and face of the man with the gun.

That man staggered back, with a low cry, and collapsed in the mud. Artie leaped forward to grab the gun and use it to strike the other man across the temple, making sure he fell unconscious… and quiet. Then he whirled. Jim was on his knees, bent forward, gasping for breath as he clutched at his shoulder.

"Jim! Come on!" No time now for sympathy. That could come later. He grabbed Jim's arm and pulled him to his feet. Jim staggered, but with Artemus holding his arm, and using sheer willpower, he trotted alongside through the rain and darkness.

"I see a light over there, to the left," Artie said in a low voice. "Must be inside Loveless's place. That means we should be on the right path. The road should be straight ahead. Are you going to make it?"

"Stop talking and keep going," Jim growled. He knew that if he did stop moving, he would collapse.

"Here! Here we are!" Jeremy Pike's welcome hoarse whisper pierced the darkness, and then he was alongside Jim, helping him. Just at that moment they heard shouts somewhere behind them. The man they had left in the mud had been found.

Ben and Vivian emerged from some brush as they gained the road. "We can't see the horses," Ben complained.

"Jim," Artie urged. "Whistle."

Jim did so. His first effort was somewhat weak, but the second a shrill call that brought a whinnied response. Moments later the black horse appeared out of the gloom, followed by Jeremy's mount.

They had decided this before as well. Knowing that the black stallion might react adversely to anyone else on his back, Artie got Jim up into the saddle, then mounted behind him, while the other three climbed on the other horse. They were not going to be able to travel fast, but they had the advantage of a head start. The shouts they continued to hear indicated pure confusion was still the order of the day among Loveless's men. They would eventually figure out what had happened, but for now, they were crashing through the brush, searching. Artie wondered if he heard Loveless's screech among the shouts.

In any case, they headed for Denver. Jeremy had said Loveless's headquarters were about an hour at a fast trot from the city limits. Because their pace was much slower, Artemus figured that closer to two hours would be required to reach civilization and an element of safety. Beyond the fact that they needed to outdistance their pursuers, he knew that Jim West needed attention. His partner was slumped and unresponsive when Artemus spoke to him. Artie had to hold him on the horse while handling the reins.

The rain stopped and the skies began to clear, both good and bad news. With some starlight, and the sliver of the moon, they could see the way ahead of them. But it also meant that anyone chasing them could make better time as well.

That proved to be the case, and before long, they plainly heard the sounds of horses and shouting men, drawing closer and closer. Artemus called to Jeremy, and both horses were pulled to a halt. Artemus had the putty and the fuses, Jeremy had the matches. The road at this spot was cut into the side of a hill, with a high bank on one side, filled with rocks, brush, and rubble. Artie threw three lit explosives. The small bursts caused quite a bit of debris to fall into the road. It would slow the oncoming horses somewhat.

So they plunged ahead, and again heard the horses behind them even closer. They then had the satisfaction of hearing bursts of angry voices and squealing horses as they encountered the debris in the road. That slight delay appeared to give the fugitives the few minutes they needed, as the lights of buildings on the outskirts of Denver appeared before them. Once among those buildings, they began to feel relatively safe, though they did not slow the pace of the weary mounts. Vivian knew the location of a doctor's home, and she led them to it. As soon as Jim was in the physician's care, Artemus and Jeremy headed out again to find some official help.

They led a posse back to Loveless's hideout in the early dawn hours, but neither agent was surprised to find the place almost completely deserted. The only person left was the man who had attempted to stop Jim and Artemus in the darkness. He was sitting on a log, rubbing his head, and trying to remember what happened. He claimed no he had no knowledge of what became of the little doctor, and Gordon and Pike were inclined to believe him.

This was not the first time Dr. Miguelito Loveless vanished before facing the law's retribution.

WWWWWW

Hearing the key in the lock, Jim West placed the book he had been reading open flat on his chest, and called out when the rear door of the Wanderer opened. "How was it?"

Artie loomed over the back of the sofa, peeling off his jacket. "Beautiful. Just beautiful. I don't think I ever saw a more radiant bride, even without the usual trappings. Ben couldn't stop grinning. I believe we made the right decision in not charging Vivian and Ben, Jim. They are now on their way to California and a new life." He spun a chair around and straddled it, leaning his arms on the back, grinning broadly. "You know, I don't believe I ever acted as both a best man and bridesmaid at a wedding before."

"Well, I would have been there to help you except I have a very strict nurse who refused to allow me to get up off this blasted couch."

"That same nurse is telling you the orders still hold. If you hadn't made that stupid move and started the bleeding again, you'd be up and around by now." Artemus Gordon knew he would never forget the sight of the streaks of crimson gore mixed with the lather and dust on the black's normally shiny withers that night when they reached the doctor's home, illuminated by the lantern the doctor brought outside. In the frantic escape, he had not been aware that Jim was bleeding so profusely.

Jim gazed at him. "Somehow I thought it was the thing to do at the time. I didn't want the trouble of breaking in a new partner." He yawned. "The lesser of two evils. Where's Jeremy?"

"Heading for Washington and hoping his explanation of why he was delayed will hold up."

"I'll write a letter for him," Jim murmured, willing his eyes to stay open. "No sign of the good doctor, I presume."

"No," Artie sighed. "He's still out there. I expect we'll encounter him again." Nor had any other of Loveless's henchmen been found, including dear Mrs. Tilly and her "family." They had simply slipped quietly away.

"No doubt of that," Jim replied, his words slurring slightly as his eyelids drooped. "He'll be looking for us…"

Artie fell silent, watching. He suspected that Jim had forced himself to remain awake so as to hear the report of the wedding. Jim West would never admit his disappointment at being unable to attend; he had barely acknowledged his own weakness over the last few days. He was gaining strength, but the physician had stated the full return of his stamina could be sometime off. Good food and good rest was the prescription.

After a minute or two, Jim's eyes were fully closed, his breathing deep and even. Artemus rose quietly to remove the book carefully from his partner's chest, laying it aside, then picked up an afghan to spread over Jim's recumbent form.

"Sweet dreams, friend," he said softly. "I didn't want to break in a new partner either."

THE END


End file.
